Category: August Stories

It’s Mostly Fruit Juice

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My friend discovered her ability to conjure a pina colada from a glass of milk one evening at dinner. She said, rather desperately, to her unruly kids, “Eat your vegetables.” Et voila! Like water to wine, the milk in her glass tasted of rum.

Her talent saves us bundles. We go to this Italian restaurant that’s family friendly. My friend and I order milk, the kids get soda, a special treat. We never pay more than a few dollars for a drink and the kids eat their veggies.

The waiters never catch on, maybe because we leave a generous tip.

He’s Got to Pull His Weight

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I was excited when this half-grown border collie came up the driveway, then I got worried. I told Pa, “Could be a working dog. They herd sheep.”

“We ain’t got no sheep.”

“Cows, maybe?”

“Don’t need no dog. Give him to John, he’s got sheep.”

I’d been asking for a dog since forever. “Might scare…”

The dog stuck his nose in the air. Something was rustling in the corn and out comes a big ol’ raccoon. The dog’s carrying on to beat the band and, miracle of miracles,  chases that raccoon clean away.

“Reckon he’ll do.”

I fed the dog.

Daisy O’Grady is a Witch

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I saw Daisy, my longtime friend, in the window of a bookshop on Hamilton Avenue. She was wrapped in cellophane, sitting in a large Easter basket that overflowed with children’s books. Oh, she wore clothes. What were you thinking? An explanatory sign said,  “Ask me about my favorite book.”

I was flummoxed. Daisy hasn’t read a book in years; she’s more into Tarot. If she reads to her grandchildren, she’s kept me in the dark.

I pulled a wig and a pointy hat from my capacious old lady purse. I had the perfect question for her. “Guess What? Yes or No.”

(Guess What? By Mem Fox. A fun read. Also a banned book in Florida for an “old lady in a bathtub” illustration. (But I suspect it’s because Daisy is a witch.)

More Heat, More Bugs

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A click beetle or a cockroach? It’s small. A thumbnail; less than a thumbprint. What is it doing in my house? Lost, I suppose. A wayward adolescent. It’s run away from home. It’s looking for a job. I would never hire it.

It’s reassuring to anthropomorphize this bug. I don’t want to imagine it climbing into the cupboards, eating up my pantry stock. Which brings to mind the black weevily bugs I found in the cranberry beans.

How Zen am I today? Should I start a bug circus? Get rid of all bugs for all time? Musings from an overheated brain.

A Reminder Was All It Took

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Bright lines, my husband lives by bright lines, clear rules that guide him. This is something I love about him.

I didn’t notice that an SUV had pulled alongside us and crossed the green line into the bike lane. The traffic sign was clear. The turn arrow inside a crossed out circle. No turn on red, in case they needed more to establish a bright line. They did. They had a nose in the crosswalk. They might have turned.

A firm honk from my husband; the SUV waited for the light. Like I would once I’m reminded there is a line.

It’s Busy Eating

Photo by Monica McHenney

Was there something delicious on the maple tree? It wasn’t the seeds, those sharp red propellers. Soft pod, brown, almost gray, shriveled as if it was a dried up blossom.

Squirrels eat maple flowers. They also chew the tubes on our irrigation system. Five gnawed holes, half an inch apart. No luck plugging them. When the sprinkler goes off, water spurts to soak the ground under the Tipu tree. 

The squirrel has a greedy little face as it pulls the branches to it, plucks the blossoms, takes a nibble, and tosses the husk away. We face off. His says, “Entitled.”

In a Post-Truth World, Nothing Matters ‘Til It Does.

Scream (1895) Edvard Munch by The Metropolitan Museum of Art is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0
Apprentice reruns, Quanon posts, bread and circuses.
The Freedom Caucus thrives in a MAGA echo chamber.
Imagine them in heated debate over dancing angels on pinheads.
Rapture them up, please, before it’s too late.
Deliver us, oh Lord, from this theocracy.

They’re loyal to a simple truth: Truth Social.
Grifts, disruption, distortions, self-serving tripe, confounding
Crap written by cowardly charlatans.
What they say is different
From what they do.

His Darkness says, “I am your retribution. The future belongs to us.”
He lies.
Lured by a MagaVerse siren song,
They believe him. 
They break things with no thought for rebuilding.

Floating Island

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The princess abided hiding away on an island. She kept hope alive for her people while her brother made his quest to free the kingdom from an evil wizard. Summer nights, crickets sang merrily and in the winter, deer fed on the hay she spread near her small cottage.

A loyal staff cared for the grounds and animals. They produced most things the household needed. The rest was magically delivered by an unmanned boat.

After he defeated the evil wizard, her brother arrived one moonlit night. They hugged, returned home to great acclaim , and the kingdom prospered under their rule.

Feather, Flute, Cloak

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(Continued from last week)

The Prince picked up the flute and played. Within minutes, a bird so large it blocked the sun landed in the field where the Prince stood. It said, “Put on the cloak and get on my back.” Invisible, the Prince flew to a drear castle where the bird left him to his fate.

He fingered the feather and the gate opened. An evil wizard greeted him. “Come to save your kingdom? First save yourself.” The feather became a sword. The prince flew at the wizard. His cloak protected him. The wizard’s anguished cry reversed the curse and freed the kingdom.

(Last installment next week)

Red Riding Hood, Through the Dewey Decimal System

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When Red Riding Hood arrived at 823.8 Carroll, she knew she’d lost her way. The hatter invited her for tea, but seemed too mad to give directions to Grandma’s house. He liked to make things complicated. She dead-reckoned into the 500 section where a path led to an oversized book with a European temperate rain forest template at the back.

Mammals- 589 was permanently closed. She took a detour. Soon after, she found a wolf. They walked through Berlitz, chatting in multiple languages, and arrived at 398.209 where they located Grandmother’s cottage.

“Do you play chess,” Grandmother asked, pouring tea.