Happy 43rd Birthday to My Oldest Son…

Joshua – 1977…
You probably don’t remember that day. Even for me it now seems like it was another universe. It was your first birthday. We called Fort Ord California home and, as it was with most Army families, we were as penniless as the winos down along the banks of the Salinas River. Your mother baked you a chocolate cake from a .29 cent box mix and decorated it with some homemade icing. We stripped you down to your diaper and sat you in your highchair while we sang birthday songs to you. You laughed as you crumbled your cake into oblivion.

100 Words of Fiction – If Only I Could be Young Again


My parents used to tell me that someday I’d wish to be a child again. I thought they were a bit senile. Who would want to live a life with no TV, cell phone or Facebook again? Who wants to fish in clean water, breathe unpolluted air, or play in the middle of the street without harm? Who needs to sleep through a quiet night and wake up refreshed? Who needs simplicity, friends …family? Why would I want to hug my father and mother or tell my brothers and sisters I love them?
“Not me,” said the ignorance of youth.

Show, don’t tell…

I’m interested in one thing, telling a story. If I wanted to show you a story, I’d take up painting. I write for me and I know what I like. I don’t write for some professor, sitting in a stuffy office, scowling at my lack of proper style. So yes, I’ll start a sentence with a conjunction, use a comma when it should be a semicolon, and use nouns as verbs. It only matters that I like it. If you like it, share it. If you don’t, that’s ok with…who am I trying to kid…please, please, please like it too.

All Aboard…


It made no difference if it was a family vacation or headed to the grocery store, my mother would plan it out to the smallest detail, barking out instruction that would make any Drill Sergeant proud, while my dad checked the tires and looked under the hood. Seating arrangements created to resolve sibling conflict; snack strategically placed within her reach.
“Anyone need to go to the bathroom?”
“Everybody have their purses, money, comb?”
“Last chance because once we start moving, we aint stopping.”
After about fifteen minutes into the trip, “Shoot Arlie, I think I left the coffee pot on.”

What’s Taking so Long…

Image by sandid from Pixabay

A long time ago, just after people found out the world isn’t flat; we got our news from something called a newspaper. ‘The Carrollton Daily Democrat’ or ‘morning coffee rag’ as we called it, was printed on large sheets of paper, thrown on the back of a truck and hauled off to some poor ‘smo’ who would ride his bike through the freezing rain at the butt crack of dawn to toss it up onto the roof or into the neighbor’s yard. But sadly, as time progressed, we found ourselves unable to wait a few hours for our news of ‘world destruction’, ‘what stupid shit did Trump say today or ‘what’s J-Lo up to these days’. So we turned to technology to deliver us from our boredom.
Now I get my news a thousand times a day in 140 character bursts. I’m still just as confused as I was back then and now I don’t have anything to put in Tweeties cage.

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