PENN'S TABLE Watercolour by RRiederMy Reader says I've been reading too much. Reading and listening to the daily news, overhearing conversations, listening to opinions from all sides, some aloud some silent but seen face-on just the same. There's something to be said about that, but you won't hear it directly from me nor My Reader.... Continue Reading →
He salutes me every morning. Him…that old guy…the early morning walker. Like me. Although, I know that I’m not the only one. I imagine he salutes every one he passes whether on the same side of the street, or not. Ex-military, for sure. Crisp camouflage pants, green jacket with emblems on the sleeve, name... Continue Reading →
BRAE TOFTS One dollar. Every three years. For the past 25 years. I’ve been paid one dollar, every three years for the past 25 years to move house. I’ve packed my pets and belongings and moved house. To a new house. Different part of the city, same state. Different neighbourhood. It didn’t take me long... Continue Reading →
IT'S A TOSS UP NO IT'S A COW Both of my kids have a picture of a framed cow that graces a wall in each of their respective homes. They were born on a family dairy farm and know the value of hard work. They also know the value of working together and of... Continue Reading →
CONVERSATION CUL-DE-SAC She wasn’t an easy person...understand not in the infamous being easy sense, she just wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Safely said, her glass was always less than half-empty. Who is kidding whom? It was empty. My Reader might think this a rather harsh and hard-to-tell recollection of The Mother. She was exactly what... Continue Reading →
My Reader says I've really truly stepped out of my comfort zone of darkened-corner-wall-flower-status by signing up to be a guest speaker on DOODLEWASH. Charlie O'Shields, an artist himself and a WordPress Freshly Pressed Prominent, show cases his own art, but also provides a WordPress venue for artist's around the world by inviting them to... Continue Reading →
A WORK IN PROGRESS... Note: My grand-daughter just celebrated her 13th birthday. I know, I know. I didn't think I was old enough to have a thirteen year old grand child...and I'm not. Not really. But while My Reader debates the above "not old enough" statement, please read the letter I sent to My... Continue Reading →
BIRD IN A BOWL Funny thing about that weather. Yesterday on the half-past five morning first dog walk of the day the weather was clear-skied, star-studded crisp and thirty-three degrees. Then again, at the morning nine o'clock second dog walk... Continue Reading →
SHACK and PUMP HOUSE The telephone would have exploded had he not answered it. The Stepfather knew who it was. His mother. She never minced words. She demanded and commanded. The Old Man was getting old. No, he was already old. He was getting older. There was debt. The Stepfather had to come help... Continue Reading →
No, she never wanted to be a burlesque dancer. What she wanted and only because he asked was a china teacup and saucer preferably English and old, blue or orange or both. Her immediate vision was that it was to be similar to the small collection they once had. The collection he took with him... Continue Reading →
Grandmother’s house was always dark. That’s what I recall anyway. The heavy drapes were always pulled shut which swathed the living room in darkness. The living room became an unmistakable cave when you entered through the front door. Grandmother’s house was always dark, but it also always smelled of blackberry jam. The scent was pungent.... Continue Reading →
Small prayer: “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray my soul and marbles I get to keep. If I die before I wake, take my freckles and throw them in a lake…..and make The Mother be nice to me.” I was little. Seven years old. Maybe eight and nine. Even older than that.... Continue Reading →
I’m going through old photographs looking for clues of a life now almost gone. I can see that The Mother was a beauty, but not the 1940’s Hollywood type beauty. Yes, the pleated and wide-legged slacks, fitted-waist peplum over-blouse, the burnt-red henna hair but not quite the Lucille Ball colour, the bright red lipstick. All... Continue Reading →
As those two memories go they are sharp and clear because they happened on the very same day. That is what cemented both. Into solid childhood ground. I think The Reader has, probably, had some incidents or events that they can almost smell because they’ve remembered them so well, and for so long? I’m hoping... Continue Reading →
Jots from a Small Apt. 