In this strange town the funeral home lurks across from the county hospital the porch on the pink house sags while the rescued mansion next door remains a monument its newly-built wall a medieval illusion of concrete and stone steep streets and their names an awkward accent in my mouth unheard by twin babies swinging…
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A Gratitudes
I’m grateful for all the airplanes that carried us safely on planned vacations that somehow turned into unexpected destinations. I’m grateful for attitude, our only choice sometimes, and for being able to choose well more often lately. I’m grateful for appreciation, amazed and astonished by daily miraculous acts of which I am in awe. I’m…
Read MoreUmbrella Shopping
For their second birthdays, I buy each of my grandbabies their own special umbrella. The first, a Hungry Little Caterpillar see-though dome for my avid reader I found in the Curious George Bookstore in Harvard Square while away for work with friends. Its curved green handle had already outgrown my suitcase and the overhead bin,…
Read MoreFlight
I left the house for a gallon of milk and I wondered what if I never went back. How long would you drink black coffee and eat dry cereal before you realized I was gone? Driving north through Canada, flying with the geese and honking my horn, buying a down coat for myself and a…
Read MoreOur Personal Pestle
Pick a sprig of anger, fresh when plucked in full bloom, and place its small yet precious self across the bottom of the bowl. Then, add seedlings, tender rose-colored resentment, hurt, resignation, pulled from the soil moments before fully taking root. Sprinkle on carefully measured heaps of our favorite flavors, selecting perhaps guilt, shame, perfectionism,…
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Terry Shamblin Writes 