The memory took me by surprise. Was it the smell, sweet and fruity ... or maybe the bright yellow of the package on the seat next to me?
She had, undeniably, grocery store feet. “She has what?” the woman asked in surprise and the young girl lifted up one bare foot and revealed its underside, a sole ranging in shade from brown to grey to near ‘bout black in places. We were not in a grocery store, but outside on a hot afternoon.
‘Come in,” a deep, low voice mumbled from behind the closed bedroom door and I turned the knob and slowly pushed it open to reveal my first born, now a teenage man child, propped against pillows and watching television, a computer on his lap.
Who originally wrote it, I don’t know. But I know where my copy came from. It’s been folded and re-folded a couple of dozen times, read and re-read when I needed a chuckle or wanted to make someone else laugh.
We interrupt this column for an important announcement about common decency.
I saw a sign in a store once. Not a sign, really, but rather a little slip of paper taped to the side of the cash register. I was buying some gum.
Somewhere in the Bible it says that God knows every hair on our heads. Comforting, it is, but I have to wonder — does he know about the freakishly long scary ones that appear out of nowhere in the most obscure places and continue to come back time and time again no matter how often we yank them out?
A friend died last week, left this life on a beautiful Easter Sunday.
Why you need a cell phone out in the ocean and other things men don't seem to understand.
It was, in my opinion, awkward.
Call me a rebel. I wore white and it’s not even April yet.
‘Do you know him?” my sister asked and I paused, but only for a moment.
There was a chill in the air as I walked down the hallway, my head hung low in guilt and shame. I slowly turned the deadbolt. The door creaked open and a rush of cold air washed over me as I stepped barefoot onto the brick. I wasn’t ready for this. Not again. Not so soon.
Chinese food. It was a good choice for a Monday night, having just pulled back into town after a long day in Atlanta.
‘Excuse me,” she said and I turned from my perusal of the wall of cute khaki and navy pants to a woman standing near me holding up a blue and tan striped tank top and a blue skirt. “Do you think these look good together? Cute?”