Tuesday came and went without remark. Joan sighed as she went to bed, but not in sadness. Rather it was a sigh of confirmation. Of acceptance. Joan had not expected him to say or do anything; that he didn’t only made it easier for her to accept her decision. Tomorrow she would call a lawyer.
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At long last the kids were quiet, and Mark had finished enough tasks that he felt justified going to bed. Midnight had long past, and soon someone would be asking, “Daddy, what’s for breakfast?”
Closing his eyes, he felt thankful for today and overwhelmed at the prospect of tomorrow. He had never imagined parenting alone.
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Through chill winds and soaking rains the drab, mottled bird held her ground, guarding her expected brood from the changing elements. Though her stomach growled, her commitment to her instinctive task did not waiver.
Beneath her, a small movement and a quite muffled tapping meant it was time to go and find food at last.
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We close out the weekend with a story from Olga Madzhitova. Thanks, Olga; and thanks, everyone!
“Run! Are you deaf? Run!” Carrie yelled as Lora ran for her life. ‘The end is coming, the end is coming.’ Lora mumbled to herself. ‘A cliff! My goodness what am I going to do? There’s no turning back.’ At the edge of the huge cliff, she jumped.
“Man, I’ve always loved bungee jumping!”
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This bit of burlesque comes from Steve Talbert.
Emily had experienced six, seven, even nine inches. But twelve inches? She was sure she could handle it, but her hometown friends would certainly be impressed. Her best friend, Beth, would require proof, of course. Fortunately, Emily enjoyed amateur photography. Clutching her camera, the native Floridian maneuvered her snowmobile through the drifting Indiana snowbanks.
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We start Sunday with a story from Phil Jenkins.
This is crazy! It used to be so simple! One foot in front of the other, and try not to lean. I know the world is not tilting!
It can only get better, but when?
Still could be worse, the stroke could have killed me!
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And one more from mo cohen…
The ship glided silently through the Corinth Canal and we hardly dared breathe. The sides were so close we reached out and touched them. The night was black, the stars infinite beyond imagination. We had talked for many hours. You whispered “You are Sartre and I am De Beauvoir. This canal is our birth canal.”
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This story comes from Cameron Pool.
“Go,” said the voice in the near distance.
“I’ll never forget” he says, leaning to her ear. “Shh, don’t say a word; nothing you could say will help me to understand.”
“Good!”
“I will always, love you.” Bang!
A tear; it’s flawless.
“I hope he appreciates what I’ve done.”
“You’ve got the part, I do.”
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We start this weekend where we left off… with a story from mo cohen.
Do you remember, Michelle Louise, the day we walked home from the Biblical Zoo in the first rains of Jerusalem winter. We were nineteen and in love and we splashed our way through every puddle from Romema to Katamon. That night an electric lightning storm split the sky and you swore you’d never leave me.
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Theo leaned forward to study the board in front of him, mapping out pieces and moves, calculations and iterations.
Gary leaned back and casually sipped his water, silently watching Theo’s eyes dart about the board.
Theo made his move and looked up.
Gary smiled, slowly leaned in and made a move of his own.
“Checkmate.”
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