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One could call my home a relaxation prison. I don’t go anywhere or do anything of consequence to anyone but me. I plant and water flowers and watch them flourish along forest paths. I write in solitude. I prepare and eat my meals in solitude. I do everything alone. My warden, Norris, demands his cream.
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In the midnight hour, when no one else is around or listening, the story I tell myself is that I didn’t fall off the turnip train yesterday. That the voice of Linda Ronstadt still rings true in my heart and head. I’m still the woman I was forty years ago even though I have silver
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I’m still not used to the Fourth of July without the indignity of the sumptuous feasts my mother concocted on her birthday. They had everything but bursting fireworks against the black sky. They weren’t necessary for her celebrations. Everyone was too tired for them by dark anyway. The family would have had to replenish its
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“Do you remember when we had dinner in that old house in the woods on the farm?” Ruby asked as she took the pan of lasagne out of the oven. Alan smiled. “Yeah, you wore your prom dress and I wore my sport coat. Mom made lasagne for us. We took it to that little
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Image generated with AI Being home in my forest among my flowers allows me to be me. The old people said “tending violets cures melancholy.” There’s something about digging in dirt to plant my begonias and impatiens that does the same thing. It restores my soul from working all fall and winter. Every morning of
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Image generated with AI. “I’m making goulash for dinner tonight. I’m going to use Mom’s recipe too.” said Janice. Mason hoped she remembered the recipe. Sometimes her memory of her Mom’s dishes were sketchy and turned out awful like the soup. He was skeptical of this goulash stuff. It had a weird name to it
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Image generated with AI. In the old stories, when life went sideways, the princess had to go to the haunted forest to find the oracle. Diane thought she might as well give it a shot. It was a hundred degrees outside. The creek was ankle deep, the shade dappled and dark. She’d start looking here.
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The Mystery in the Cook Book
I pulled the book off the shelves that looked most promising for a real recipe for rough puff pastry. The Great British Baking Show offered more inspiration than information, and Wolfgang Puck’s book looked more promising than most on the St. Albans library shelves. The book held that exquisite new book smell to it, and Read more
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Teachers’ Kids
“Out, out brief candle,” I said. “Shakespeare is so antiquated. They’re taking him out of the schools now. He’s irrelevant,” said Nick. My son was six. “Can you tell a story in a thousand words or less in iambic pentameter? I didn’t think so.” “Just tell me a bedtime story,” he said. “It was a Read more
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Black Licorice
“Which house shall we hit next, the brick one or that long white one with just the porch light on?” The Bunny Sisters collaborated. Trick or Treat was a serious matter. It had to be done in the most efficient and interesting of ways. Their costumes were fashioned of dresses from the thirties and their Read more
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An Unlikely Account of Lincoln’s Tophat
Not many people knew of Mercucio Sibedow, haberdasher to the presidency. Mercucio grew up south of the Mason Dixon line. He learned from his daddy how to make hats and ties, leather gloves, fashion mens finishing touches. You’d think that finishing touches were woman’s work, but that would be absolutely not true. In the world Read more
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How to hide a genius
As a society, we paint the most malformed picture we can grumble about. We tangle our thoughts in knots of despair so tight we can’t move from one group to the next without dire consequences. Once you move, there’s no going back, especially if you’ve moved “down.” Shunning is done with silent delight. Open, honest, Read more
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Familiar Strangers
“Do I know you?” they both asked simultaneously, then laughed. Susan stepped backwards two steps. That laugh of his was more familiar than his face and all the warmth and funny drained out of it. She didn’t like the way she felt at all. She held a smile on her face. Maybe it wasn’t him. Read more
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One could call my home a relaxation prison. I don’t go anywhere or do anything of consequence to anyone but me. I plant and water flowers and watch them flourish along forest paths. I write in solitude. I prepare and eat my meals in solitude. I do everything alone. My warden, Norris, demands his cream.
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In the midnight hour, when no one else is around or listening, the story I tell myself is that I didn’t fall off the turnip train yesterday. That the voice of Linda Ronstadt still rings true in my heart and head. I’m still the woman I was forty years ago even though I have silver
-
I’m still not used to the Fourth of July without the indignity of the sumptuous feasts my mother concocted on her birthday. They had everything but bursting fireworks against the black sky. They weren’t necessary for her celebrations. Everyone was too tired for them by dark anyway. The family would have had to replenish its
-
“Do you remember when we had dinner in that old house in the woods on the farm?” Ruby asked as she took the pan of lasagne out of the oven. Alan smiled. “Yeah, you wore your prom dress and I wore my sport coat. Mom made lasagne for us. We took it to that little
-
Image generated with AI Being home in my forest among my flowers allows me to be me. The old people said “tending violets cures melancholy.” There’s something about digging in dirt to plant my begonias and impatiens that does the same thing. It restores my soul from working all fall and winter. Every morning of
-
Image generated with AI. “I’m making goulash for dinner tonight. I’m going to use Mom’s recipe too.” said Janice. Mason hoped she remembered the recipe. Sometimes her memory of her Mom’s dishes were sketchy and turned out awful like the soup. He was skeptical of this goulash stuff. It had a weird name to it
-
Image generated with AI. In the old stories, when life went sideways, the princess had to go to the haunted forest to find the oracle. Diane thought she might as well give it a shot. It was a hundred degrees outside. The creek was ankle deep, the shade dappled and dark. She’d start looking here.
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I Did a Thing…
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Norris+tales+ii&crid=3A2N1W43XCPVA&sprefix=norris+tales+ii%2Caps%2C87&ref=nb_sb_noss Available in paperback, hardback, or Kindle Unlimited or Kindle.
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Alpine
Alpine forgot all about the presentation due in Ethics 101 in two hours. He had a conglomeration of photos on his computer. A mix of people, places, and things, nouns he could mash together like words to spew out in front of a PowerPoint that would make him sound like he’d been up all night…
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What color is “E”
What color is the letter “E”? It’s red. E is the most used letter in the English language. It should stand out. E encompasses everything. It’s one of the first letters children learn. For some reason, they even learn the term “schwa e” in first grade. I know I did. I still don’t know what…
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You can see me?
Image generated with AI Elsa had flour all over the kitchen and her fingers were sticky with dough. It would take more minutes of finger work, squeezing, kneading and molding the dough to get it to stick together for pastry. It would come together, get less sticky, then she would have to work her magic…
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Clementine’s Parchment
Image generated with AI. “I hate this tradition. It’s dumb. Why can’t we be like normal families and roast ducks and wear stupid hats?” said Janice. She was eighteen and didn’t want to write a sentence on her scroll this year. “Write what you feel. If you think it’s a stupid tradition, write about it…
Devonne Brown 