I’ll Take Them Anyway

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Elbow length opera gloves were Maisie’s aspirational accessory. They were hard to find, but on her way to work, she saw them in the window of a secondhand shop on the corner of Main and Chestnut. She knew she had to have them. She had twenty minutes.

A bell tinkled above the door as she entered the store. The dominant smell was pachouli with a dusting of pine and a soupçon of je n’ai sais quoi. Maisie picked the gloves from the window display and slipped one over her hand, up her arm, the satin soft and pleasant. Too big.

It’s a Small Neighborhood

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Some people said the limo was black, others said it was white. Marla didn’t believe that a limo picked up the janitor every evening at 5 PM. I mean a janitor for a rundown building like hers, no way.

But she saw him leave in a limo with her own eyes.  She followed in her beat-up Civic all the way to a well-known drug dealer’s house. She saw the janitor take a suitcase from a sketchy-looking  guy. Draw your own conclusions, but Marla thought drug money was the janitor’s side hustle.

Such juicy gossip, she hurried to tell her neighbor.

When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Share a Meal

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Justice O’Connor, who died two years ago on this day, was an advocate for informal lunches at the Supreme Court. Even Clarence Thomas, who’d stayed away from the events, succumbed to her invitations. 

O’Connor and her fellow female justice, RBG, advanced equal rights for all. There are four women on the bench now. It was probably easier for them to get there thanks to the two women who went before them. Here’s hoping they will ease the way to full equality for others. Here’s hoping they will make those SCOTUS lunches welcoming for all as O’Connor did in her day.

Sandra Day O’Connor died on December 1, 2023. Ruth Bader Ginsberg died on September 18, 2020.

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Turkey Dressing

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Cecilia’s middle son drew a picture of a turkey to decorate the door for Thanksgiving. The turkey had a mustache and wore a tux. “Why a tux?” Cecilia asked. Henry shrugged and Cecilia let it go. She was busy making pumpkin pie and cranberry relish for the big dinner.

As the guests arrived the next day, the first question everyone asked was, “Why a tux?” Henry’s Grandma said she liked a turkey who knew how to dress. His Grandpa said, “What a stuffed shirt.”

Cecilia said, “The best thing about this turkey tux is no one’s talking politics.”

Gobble, gobble.

In the Year 2076

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The year the US turned three hundred, Marcy traded lace for leather boots with the cobbler, whose daughter was getting married. Handy with a thread and needle, Marcy shared her flea market stall with her friend, Anne, who wove linen and wool.

During thirty years of a government shut down, the country had split into separate economic and political entities. The original thirteen colonies loosely allied under a charter to pursue a more perfect union. The Midwest showed folks how to be “Minnesota Nice.” Washington pursued politics as usual while the rest got on with the politics of the practical.

The One That Got Away

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I want my baby back. Ribs. That’s back ribs. I was standing at the meat counter and there was one package left. It’s been ages since I’ve barbequed ribs, ages. 

The last time was at a cabin up north, summer. The mosquitos were buzzing and I slapped at them and then made a fire to smoke the skeeters away and once you have a fire, then you need some ribs. So we had ribs, potato salad, beans, and apple pie. 

I looked for the ribs. Gone. They were in this lady’s cart heading for dairy. So, I got some tofu.

On the Day of the Dead, Life and Death Meet

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La Calavera Catrina strolled in the park on La Dia de Muertos. She passed stands of tamales where patrons and proprietors waved. A small boy ran to her and held out a sugar skull. “Senora, for you.”  Catrina’s skeletal face brightened under the wide-brimmed hat she wore.

She plucked a flower from the hat and held it out for him. “Muchacho, muchas gracias. I wish you a long life. Live it. All the generosity in your heart, give it away and it will grow. Hold it close and it will wither.” She took his hand; he smiled; they strolled on.

On Hallow’s Eve

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Rain-dappled moonlight pierced the clouds on a wet Halloween night. It cast a silo of light, illuminating a broom abandoned in a muddy field. The broom danced alone to silent music; a step, a dip, a leap. It wished for company. A witch materialized from thin air.

“I’ve come through the veil to find my sister,” she said.

The broom curtseyed, in the stiff way that brooms do. “Climb on.”

The broom got cozy under the witch’s woolen cloak, and with a few mumbled spells, the witch searched the Earth on the one night when living and dead mingle together.

Advice from an Older Me to My Six Year-old Self

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I traveled in time to my sixth birthday party. I spoke with my younger self. “Psst. It’s hard to wait when you’re six.”

“Yeah, it’s not fair. It’s my birthday. I’m last in line for all the games. My aunt said I should get to go first, but Dad won’t listen to anyone.

“Relax. Life is waiting in lines. You’ll learn to notice what’s important. You’ll see; that’s your superpower.”

“I’m mad and I’m sad.”

“You’ll remember the party that way. But learning to wait is valuable, even when you think waiting isn’t worth it. Also, Dad’s not always right.”