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Daily Archives: November 18, 2017
November Writing Challenge Day 18 Her husband. Her husband was suave and polished and wore a tie to work. He regarded football as a Neanderthal sport, preferring polo or maybe an occasional tennis match. Something more dignified. Her husband drank red wine and knew which fork to use and talked about hedge funds. Her husband sat on the hospital board and the foundation for the historic district. Her husband was an alumni from Brown. Or was it Cornell? All those Ivy League Schools blended in my mind. Her husband was a total bore. And here I sat, listening to him drone on, while I swirled my French 75 and wondered if it would be rude to drink it as fast as I wanted. I glanced around, noting the cornices and architectural details that set this house apart and screamed wealth. Or rather, quietly drew your eye to the next lavish design or painting. Her husband was still talking about his uncle’s bird dogs in South Carolina. I watched the diamonds flash on his watch. I then watched the diamonds dance on my bracelet and wondered how long it would be before I could take off these ridiculous shoes. My husband didn’t have a college degree. My husband had to rent a tux for a yearly event. My husband loved hockey and beer and nachos. My husband was eyeing the caviar with distaste but I knew he would have to try…
November Writing Challenge Day 17 Grass cuttings You know summer is on the way in the south when you smell wild onions. Most people have Kentucky 31 fescue with a healthy heaping of weeds. People will build half million dollar homes and then slap two bags of grass seed on their plot and call it done. It was quite the joke at the Co-op. And some people cut their yard so short, grass has no choice but to die. Growing season is March through October, fescue prefers the cooler seasons and will go dormant in the hottest part of the year. Or will get brown patch disease and look like hell. But heaven forbid you suggest Bermuda to anybody. That’s a weed. Gets in the flower beds and you can’t pull it out. Sigh. It’s hard out there for a seed salesman 😉 But anyway. I remember as a wee tot I’d gather up all the grass cuttings and go to town, covering up my tomcat, Sylvester, or making a nest for my Greyhound, Candy. Sometimes I’d go make a bed for the rabbits or feed it to the cows through the barbed wire fence. I really felt industrious. I was a primitive grass catcher. I guess that’s about the best I can do with this topic. Why can’t they give me something I can relate to, like cornbread? Then I…
