Adults

They send cards and texts and messages on Facebook. I know they are thinking of me. But we don't talk. We just exchange written pleasantries. This way of communicating is strange; yes, it is nice to be remembered, but it leaves me feeling hollow.

Sometimes I think I have a lot of friends. But then I realize....I just know a lot of people.

Alone. Inside. Post surgery. The house is quiet and dark, and so are my thoughts. Dreadful depressing loneliness closes in on me.

Deep breath. Step out onto the front porch. The transformation is immediate. Always cool and shady, the sprawling old oak tree conceals me from passersby. No one ever sees me sitting here. But I can see and hear them - walking, running, biking, driving past. And I am immediately in a brighter place, no longer alone.

Grandma’s got “Dieagreedies”

Hey little one slow down. It’s called diabetes but I like your novel word better.

I am greedy and greedy eating is really a better explanation of what it’s about when you’re eating too many carbs and sweets. It turns into “dieagreedies”just like you said.

Come will make a healthy dinner with yummy salad, roast chicken and naturally delicious baked apples. Good choices so you don’t ever inherit “dieagreedies.”

Gertrude had had it with her husband hogging the bed. One dark night, she snuck out and checked into a fine hotel. She just wanted a good night’s sleep!

She floated, languorous, centered, in the soft silk sheets of the king-size bed, wide awake. She couldn’t sleep until she scrunched all the way over and clutched the edge of the bed like an ant on a stick.

“Oh, hell,” she thought ruefully.

He was not feeling 100%. He scheduled a doctor’s appointment and looked forward to celebrating his birthday with his children, their spouses and his grandchildren. They shared ice cream and blueberry pie, his favorite. His grandkids urged him to make a wish. “I don’t need to make a wish”, he grinned. “I have everything I have ever wanted.”
Twenty-four hours later he died of cardiac arrest......He was the love of my life.

I rise early in our weather-beaten house on Cranbury Road, listen to a blackbird sing. We had moved in last week and are finally unpacked. My daughter sleepily rambles in, asks if I believe in ghosts. Of course not I reply. She insists that ghosts are real. She is five. The nanny told me our house is haunted, she adds. I don’t know what to say. We do not have a nanny.

A bloody wallet lays on the banks of the river. A praying mantis takes something out of the wallet and dances, swaying, like a pendulum. Flashback 3 days ago; a lone Ronin walks into the post office to mail a letter to his love. For refusing to step on a tile of Christ his letter of love remains forever unsent...

“Do you think he really means it?”
“Yes,” she texted back.
The twins hid under a covered display table. A gunman had quietly slipped into their classroom locking the door. He ordered everyone against the windowed wall. Then he just stood there pointing the rifle. Minutes ticked away.
Finally, he said, “It’s too much.”
There was a loud blast. Screams. The gunman collapsed. Blood splattered onto the display cloth. All wemt eerily quiet.

A HONEYMOON ON THE FRENCH RIVIERA
 
""Can you call the front desk for the time"" my husband asked? "" You can speak French"", he added confidently. I willingly picked up the phone and said in my best high school accent, ""pardon et moi, quelle heure est- il, s'il vous plait""? The clerk answered me politely, but rather rapidly, and I thanked him, ""merci beaucoup"".  
 
""Well darling"" my bridegroom asked, ""what time is it""?  I answered in exasperation ""who can understand French""?