Jan 18
Starbucks Cherry Hill, NJ October 2002 I’m shaking from hitting the curb as I pulled in. I don’t see any damage, but I’m uncontrollably jittery. It’s a good thing I brought my journal tonight. My mocha Frappuccino will just add caffeine to my jitters, but the journal, well, that’s relaxing. I hope. It’s an older …
Jan 16
My husband asked what I was writing about this month. After I answered him, I could tell that he wasn’t impressed—probably not even slightly interested—with my subject. “Finding iPhones,” I said. He smirked, and I knew he was thinking: boring. So, I gently reminded him that “I’m a writer. If I do my job well, …
Jan 15
Still on two week National Guard duty at Phelps Collins Air Base in the 1960’s, I was a lowly Airman Second Class manning our medical infirmary late at night. Sometime after ten o’clock, with the outside floodlight casting a harsh glare over the parking lot, several cars pulled up. Anyone arriving that late could …
Jan 10
Frederick St. John, or Rick as his friends called him, pushed open the heavy carved door of his restaurant, On the Rocks. A cab had dropped him off at the front saving him some time. It was peak in the dining room, and he was late. As soon as he cleared the doors, his pounding …
Jan 08
When the hygienist said it would be a few minutes, I reached into my bag for a book or story packed for such an occasion—a few stolen moments of reading. Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout mingled there in my oversized and heavy purse with my Nook, spare change and crumpled receipts. My short story group …