Grey is the New Black

Back in the day, when her hair was black and her skin was smooth, thirty was old.  Really old.

Then she got busy.  Life happened and time moved on.  Thirty passed when she wasn’t looking, and then forty, and then (yikes!) fifty, and then, looking back, thirty seemed young.  So young.

Today her hair is grey and her skin is lined with life, but inside she still feels just the same as she did back in the day, when her hair was black.  

Maybe grey is the new black, she thought.  Maybe sixty is the new thirty.

Or maybe not…

Nobody's Home

Just before the holidays, I had the great good fortune to be the winner in a drawing held by Mommycosm.  The prize was this wonderful photograph by LouCeel titled Nobody's Home.   Shortly after the drawing was held, the picture was delivered, and it is even more enchanting than it appeared online.  I promised Lou that I would post a picture of it hanging in situ, and that picture (actually three pictures) is below.  But Lou's photograph is so haunting, so evocative, that I was inspired to accompany it with a little story.  And so, Lou, this one's for you.

Nobody's Home

It seemed like he’d been invisible his whole life, like no matter what he did, no one ever noticed him.  Not really.  Oh, sure, if he got an A+ on a spelling test, Mom might say, “that’s nice, dear,” with all the excitement in her voice that she might use to remind him that the grass needed mowing.  But when his older brother brought home a good grade, you’d have thought Tom had just invented the wheel.  He was just never as smart or as talented as Tom.  Everything he did was mediocre.   He simply couldn’t achieve anything extraordinary.  

He didn’t really have any good friends, either, except those guys who sought him out to get close to his sister Becca.  Every time Becca opened her mouth, what came out was “clever,” “charming,” or “hilarious.”  Whenever he tried to tell a joke or a story, he got that look that said, “I don’t get it.”  No doubt about it, he was boring. 

He hated to admit it, but he was “a nobody.”   He might as well carry vanilla pudding in his pocket for identification.

Well, he’d had enough.  He was moving out.  Oh, he wouldn’t go all at once, even though he doubted anyone would even notice when he was gone.  But he’d found the perfect place, and bit by bit, he’d move his stuff into his new digs.  So far he had a refrigerator and a bed.  It was a good start.  He was really looking forward to having a place of his own.  For the first time in all his 12 years of life, he’d feel like he was home.  Maybe he’d even put up a sign.

“Nobody’s Home”

100-Word Challenge: Breakfast

This is my submission to Velvet Verbosity's 100-Word Challenge:  Breakfast.

Conversation Over the Toast

It was Gram’s 75th birthday, and to celebrate, I took her to breakfast. 

Buttering toast, her eyes focused backward into the past, she said, “You know that comedian Saul Morgan?  Kinda famous back in the 50s?”

“That beatnik guy who used to perform at the hungry i?” 

“Yeah, that guy. “

She paused.  Then, “I dated him.” 

“You didn’t!”

“Yeah… I did.”

After another, even longer pause, “I slept with him.”

“You DIDN”T!!!” 

“Yeah… I did.”   

She smiled, her eyes shining. “He told me I was the only girl he’d ever dated who could make intelligent conversation over the toast.”

100-Word Challenge: Nervous

This is my submission to Velvet Verbosity's 100-Word Challenge:  Nervous.

The Blind Date

Blind dates always made her nervous. So much could go wrong, and usually did.

What if he didn’t like her? What if he’d rather hang with his buddies than with her? What if he was a noisy eater? Worse, a sloppy kisser? 

What if he was a real dog?

It was with trepidation that she drove to the park where they would meet for the first time. She needn’t have worried. As she walked toward him, he pulled his leash free and, leaving the other puppies behind, happily loped toward her, silky ears flapping. It was love at first sight!

100-Word Challenge: Prefer

This is my response to Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge: Prefer.

Swaying soundlessly on the porch swing, sipping her sweet tea, she watched the sun slowly slip below the horizon.  She hoped it would bring some relief from the scorching summer heat she’d felt stalking her all day. 

“I swan,” she declared, delicately peeling the bodice from her damp bosom and fanning herself with the wedding program she’d picked up at the ceremony.  “I might just melt right here!  How could a sane person even consider an outdoor wedding this time of year?”

 “Perhaps you’d prefer a funeral,” Miles smirked, raising an eyebrow. “At least then, you wouldn’t have to dance.”