August 4, 2020 – Tuesday (as of today the US has >4.85 million cases of Covid-19 and over 159,000 deaths … and things are getting worse)
I am trying to focus on niceness during my days. I read yesterday that the brain tends to gravitate towards negative thoughts and things … I already knew that … but it’s a good reminder to purposely seek out the good in your day. Large or small.
As of right now the sun is slanting off the edge of this planet and it is shining on the bush/tree across the road from me and the foliage looks like it’s wet … or covered in silver glitter. It is sparkling in the sunlight and is absolutely beautiful. As I was gaping at that … two deer walked by – mom and fawn – heads bobbing in unison and then – just like that – the fawn hopped over my neighbor’s fence … and then mom followed and they were gone. Lovely. By the time I finished writing that sentence, due to the earth’s rotation and the ballet of the solar system the sun rays moved off the foliage and they were mere green again. I’m so glad I didn’t miss that sparkle scene!
I put corn cobs and some half apples out for the deer – just beyond my fence line. Just for extra mid-summer treats. It’s not like I owe them anything – they seem to help themselves to my garden bed buffet more often than not! The violets seem particularly tasty these days. But it makes me feel good to feed the little ones.
I’m still going through my writing folder and came upon a few more stories … more ideas than anything full-blown or developed. But for what it’s worth … I thought I’d share. Enjoy!
*****
Man of her Dreams … (not dated)
There was something about a man who wore glasses.
Perhaps it was the element of vulnerability; or the rakish, bookishness that exuded sexuality; or perhaps, yet, it was the Clark Kent/Superman mystique. Whatever that something was –Morgan Whitney liked it.
She liked it a lot. She liked it a whole lot.
There he was, again … the man of her dreams … walking toward her on the crowded sidewalk–tall, tousled blonde hair, ruggedly handsome, a muscular build … Adonis in glasses.
She had seen him three, maybe four, times before. She slowed her pace, yet her pulse quickened; she looked at him–willing him to look her way. But like the other times before … the crowd swallowed them both –and he was gone. She could just see the back of his sport coat as he edged towards the street and crossed amid blaring horns.
It was not the horns that roused her from her sleep, but the alarm clock; the furry alarm clock … Mr. Quigley (Quigs for short) –her silver tabby. Hungry, as usual. How could an 18-pound cat always be starving?
“Morgan, get a grip.” she chided herself, “You’re late. Get a move on!”
She stepped into the sunshine from the subway stairs … nearly blinded from the light she bumped into an old woman and a poodle. Mumbling her apologies, she veered off to the right and squeezed into her favorite coffee shop glad that the line wasn’t too impossibly long this morning. She ordered her usual (a 2-shot vanilla soy latte, no foam) and waited.
“I believe you dropped this.”
Morgan turned around and there stood a man holding something out to her. Again, holding the paper out closer to her, he said, a little louder this time, “I believe you dropped this.” and handed her the fallen coffee receipt.
She stood there, looking at him, mouth agape like a stunned codfish. What is wrong with me? she thought. “Um, thanks. Nice sweater.” Nice sweater? She was mortified but just stood there blinking at him. Her mind was reeling.
He introduced himself as he put his hand to his chest, “Oh, thanks. Yeah – I love these Fisherman sweaters. A bit warm when you’re inside – but great when you’re out of doors. Hi. I’m Marvin. Marvin Davies.”
She winced inwardly … MARVIN! Who names their child Marvin! Marvin and Morgan … that is horrendous! She had named her childhood, female dachshund Marvin! This would never work!
He continued talking. “Family name – I know. What are you going to do?” he laughed. “Thankfully people call me MD.”
She smiled at him and kept looking at that face. I can’t wait to tell mom that I met a “doctor”! She’ll be thrilled!
He wasn’t gorgeous and he wasn’t blonde …but he wore glasses.
And there was just something …
**************
Trollop! … (also not dated)
Trollop! Of all the names she, Rebecca Ann Matthews, had ever been called this one sounded the nicest; why then had it hurt the most?
Tramp. Bitch. Home-Wrecker. Slut. Hooker. Whore. Those words were ugly. But this word actually sounded nice–something like an amount of dessert topping.
Oh, thanks ever so much; I’d love a trollop of that sweet cream for my pie.
It wasn’t the word itself, then, nor even its meaning ~ which she fully gathered and assumed she had earned ~ but its delivery.
Rebecca saw the woman far before the encounter; they were walking towards each other on the crowded sidewalk. Why Rebecca had honed in on this little woman in the crowd and why she had focused on her was puzzling to her. The intensity of the woman’s eyes? Though they were now faded with age – they pierced Rebecca’s soul. Her stature? She was small, slight, but straight as an arrow and amazingly elegant in the way she carried herself.
What brought these two together? Was it fate, destiny or simply something else …
*****
And, that again, is all she wrote!