If Only…

Eleven-year-old Emma June just wants to Flee away from the bully and go to the flea circus . But she doesn’t listen to her instincts. And that’s when everything went wrong.

“Not over there, Carla. That boy gives me the creeps.” <Emma June>

“It’s only Rachael’s brother, for crying out loud.”

I remember the time I stayed overnight ay Rachael’s. Brandon kept peeking through her bedroom window trying to scare us by pretending to be an axe murderer.

“He’s a sixteen-yea- old bully,” I say.

“He’s not that bad. I’ve seen his good sides.”

“I’d rather go to the flea circus. They’re trained, you know. They can turn a miniature carousel two thousand times their size.”

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“And they’re itchy.” Carla grabs my hand and leads me toward the Knock-Down-The-Milk-Bottle tent where Brandon stands motioning us forward with a bona-fide moonshine jug in his hand.

(excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket)

 

 

A find after the find- Priceless!

Yesterday, while looking for something else, I found a poem I had written to celebrate my new-old parlor grand Steinway. Today, serendipitously or not, I received a FB post from a friend who remembered the party and sent me this picture! The party was 16 years ago so I’m a few years older now. 🙂

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left to right: two of our friends, me in center, my hubby, and Will, our fabulous pianist for the evening. He is also the one who rented the Rolls Royce for picture taking.

When Words Kill

Cono Dennis, after realizing his father read his private letters.

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Cono Dennis, my father, age 18

I might not have sparred with him but I stopped him cold and I don’t just mean by showing off my defense skills and putting him in a head lock. As sure as a sharp axe can cut through and splinter a log and slice a thin piece of paper, a sharpened pencil can do the same thing. Words are powerful; they can be weapons as sharp as an axe. “Gene, I want to kill my Dad,” words that must have reverberated and Echoed in Dad’s ears just as loud as a sawed off shotgun, or blue lightening bouncing off a cow’s head. And just as loud as his slap across my face. I don’t think I meant for him to find all those letters, but he did.

 

From No Hill for a Stepper, the novel based upon my father’s life from age two till age eighteen.