Yippee! Knitting and writer's, all in one fun-filled night. And it's exercises night at writing; I love exercises nights. I had to start the day with a funeral call; an old neighbor passed earlier this week and this morning was the visitation before the service. I hadn't seen his kids in decades so I went to pay my respects. He had just turned 90 and he'd lived a good long life full of interesting and rewarding adventures, so it wasn't terribly sad. Bon voyage, Chuck, you were a good neighbor.
October 29--Vittore Carpaccio, Dream of St. Ursula. Usula folded back the covers admiring the cool, white smoothness as she climbed into the bed. She was so tired of traveling. The dirt and heat, and the jarring ride had make her bones ache. She didn't care that the motel had been built in the 1950s and not redecorated since. All she cared about was that there were no roaches in the shower when she turned on the light and the sheets were snowy white and clean. The water was good and hot when she turned the tap and it was only rusty for a minute as it rushed out of the old iron pipes. The soap smelled of lemon and lavender, soothing to the soul as well as her skin. After her shower she put on an old roomy white t-shirt that felt like flannel against her skin. She combed the tangles out of her hair and braided it. Her supper was two cranberry pecan granola bars, a can of Diet Coke, and an apple from the Gas 'n Grab where she'd filled up before pulling into the neighboring motel for the night. The morning would be enough time to think about whether she really wanted to go back to Evansville and claim Auntie Cele's farm and the legacy she'd left Ursula, or just keep on driving.
Hmm, this might lead somewhere.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Was it Chuck Brand? I have a fond memory of being taken to his garage once when I was very little to see a mouse nest complete with tiny blind baby mice--but that was when the first Mrs. Brand was alive.
I'm glad you get to have some fun tonight.
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