Category: December Stories

It’s Better to Flip a Coin

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They were compatible except for different ideas about where to vacation. She wanted a cruise on the Rhine. He preferred the Nile. She wanted to visit a democracy. He said that Egypt is a democracy, but they both knew better. She wanted to leave her raincoat at home. He said, “Then Egypt is the place to go.”

The negotiations lasted for a week. Every evening, they huddled separately with their phones. Their conversations were revealing. They were determined to compromise; also to keep trying for their vacation choice and win the other’s heart. In the end, they flipped a coin.

The New Year Just Like the Old Year

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Twas the night before New Year and all through the land, 
No glasses were empty, no noshes unplanned.
The mistletoe hung under doorways in clusters
Completely ignored due to long  filibusters.
Folks whispered and tittered 
They blistered and dithered,
All trying to force their opponents to wither.
These twisters of words, these sisters of shadow, 
Their blustery blows have me thinking of Maddow.
The night almost over, the cat cleaned her whiskers
And finished the dregs from the host’s brandy snifter. 
She loudly exclaimed as she stalked out of sight,
“The year has begun with no break from the fight.”

Coal in Every Stocking

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From a young age, Johnny did his best to earn coal in his stocking when St. Nick came. He pulled his sister’s hair. He stole his brother’s allowance. He even kicked the dog. 

His reach is wider now. But he’s still the same trickster he was as a child. And he’s still enamored with coal. He’s earned enough coal this year to smog up the length and breadth of America. Johnny cut a deal with the mines. Santa will deliver. And with the economy, and the cost of toys, not to mention the cost of heat, America will thank him.

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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Bring on the New Year

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Tables filled with tasty foods prepared by friends. The first potluck of the year is already a wild success. There’s news, of course. Travels to far away places. Lost elections; can we ever recover? Some might move. Probably not, though. Too many ties here. Look at this room, these people. They’ve known each other too long to cut and run.

There will be more adventures this new year. More books to read and hikes to take and nights around the television with the dogs snoring at their feet. Babies will be born. The world will grow older and maybe wiser.

‘Tis the Season

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Along a woodsy trail in the deepest forest you’ll find a steady light if you look hard. Wish on it. If your heart is pure and you know the meaning of the season, your wish will come true. But then you won’t be believing me, will you?

No influencer am I. Not one you’ll find on Tik Tok or Instagram. Not one to hype the latest thing. But I tell you, take that walk, find a log, sit a while. A small brown bird will land on a branch. A doe might feed, a squirrel might chatter. Anything can happen. 

Fairy Dust

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The village wise woman was sure he was a changeling. “He was kidnapped by fairies.”

They took the boy to the middle of the forest on the night of a blue moon, left him in a clearing, then hid themselves. He disappeared in a puff of smoke. They heard a baby cry.

”How will we know if it’s ours,” the father said.

”What if it’s not?” The mother burst into tears.

They picked the baby up, a beautiful little girl, and brought her to the wise woman. “Raise her well. She’s been touched by magic; soon she’ll take my place.”