Seashells

Interesting, Bob. This is the story with the burnt house and the parade, right? So the woman who left him was black? Whew, that sure tosses a wrench in that town doesn't it. Looking forward to reading more.

Today was the dreaded craft fair with Mom and Helen, her neighbor. I picked Mom up before 7 AM (it's not really light out at 7 AM) to haul her, her doll clothes and Christmas ornaments, and my tote of 57 crocheted dishcloths out to St. John the Baptist school in Howard for what we hoped would be a long day of selling stuff to hordes of eager shoppers. Turns out hundreds, nay, thousands of shoppers stayed away in droves. Mom, Helen, and I sat on our little folding chairs in the echoing and chilly gym watching about thirty other vendors not sell anything. The highlight of the day was the pair of ten-year-old girls sent out from the lunch area to take orders from and deliver succulent hot dog or sloppy joe plates to the sellers. I chose the hot dog plate and I must say I think I made the right choice; the dog was excellent, spicy and juicy (and pre-ketchuped), the bun was soft and squishy, the chips crisp and salty, and the cup of orange pop was a festival of artificial orange flavor with plenty of ice. Worth every penny of the $3.00 it cost. I sold 13 dishcloths.

Here's last night's words:

Like parti-colored Easter eggs, the kokolishi shells were piled in crevices and depressions in the shoreline rocks, winking in the sun. Waves pushed at them, tugged them back like dice rattling in a cup, rearranged them like rune stones readying for a reading. Diego sat hunched on the wet rock not caring when the waves slurped at his legs and hips, not giving in to the cool promise of the water but glaring at the small colorful shells tumbling in their rocky captivity. The shells gave the impression that their colors were fake. They glowed pink, yellow, navy, and white in the frame of black rock like art glass in a display. The blaring sun overhead did duty as spotlight as with each passing wave the shells tumbled and preened. Diego had come to this isolated beach to escape prying eyes, to avoid the meeting he knew must happen, to postpone the moment when past indiscretions collided with present entanglement.