She was surprised by the offer, a quick detour to the river on the way home from a doctor’s appointment. She hadn’t been riverside in years, long before the macular degeneration had mostly taken her sight and her ability to travel on her own.
They slowly walked arm in arm to the boat ramp, where during the lively days of summer, the canoeists would launch and the fisherman would wade off into the waters. But the seasons were changing and it was becoming cold.
Her limited vision and her big imagination allowed her to see across the waters and into its depths. There were dark areas and an obvious shallow section and the image of a large rock submerged not twenty feet away.
“Bring me a handful of water, I want to feel it” as she swayed unsteadily on the ramp’s uneven surface.
“Oh my, it’s kind of cold. But not too bad. It feels nice”
Yes, it does.
I was sitting at a bar one afternoon, hanging out with the regulars, just sipping on a beer and shooting the breeze. I hadn’t been born or raised in the area, but had morphed into a bar fly through osmosis, averaging four or five visits a week, and talking a good game while possessing the ability to drink to an unhealthy level while still working a job for 60 hours a week. That made you normal, just one of the guys. Continue reading Self Medication
On almost every Sunday at 101 South Church Street., there was a family meal being served. This was the home of Ralph and Emma Lambert. Theirs was the classic Southern marriage, one that would endure over sixty-five years here on Earth. Hard-working and living within their means, they had raised a large family in such a small house. Work was Monday through Friday or Saturday, Church was every Sunday morning. Continue reading Dinner Time
I dialed 911 one afternoon because I thought that I was having a heart attack. I had been wide-awake for two nights with a pounding heartbeat, but without the shooting left arm pain, the anxiety of the possible outcome doubling the tightness of shoulder muscles and the paces across the living room floor. Continue reading You’re Not Right
There was a portable speed limit sign on Spring Street today. I registered an average score of 19 during my three trips through the 25 MPH zone because I now drive like an old lady in my old lady Buick. But it got me to thinking. Continue reading Small Town Speed Trap Ahead
Today’s the third anniversary of my best friend’s death. And I’m still pissed at the world. So, I thought that I’d write something funny. Continue reading My Ass
If you don’t live in the Washington, D.C./Baltimore area, you may have missed the Oh-So slanderous headlines from the past three weeks.
Emergency vote in Ocean City, Maryland: You can’t go topless here.
Continue reading Boobies-Exposing the Truth