Dear Santa,
Remember the year I wanted an EZ Bake oven and my brother wanted a television? And I kept telling my brother Santa doesn’t bring TVs as I was kind-hearted enough to not want him to be disappointed but also bratty enough to point out how stupid his request was. You brought me a nonfunctional console tv that my dad later turned into a desk. The note on it said, I got a TV that didn’t work because I hadn’t believed. He got a freaking television.
Continue readingAnita stopped and nearly tripped over a footstool at the opening to the stall. The mirror was Victorian with all the excess that style had to offer – and then some. It would be completely ridiculous in her Mid-Century modern home, but it called to her in that way that some things do. It was like she had sniffed out a treasure just waiting to be rescued and given a proper home.
Usually, her finds were starburst clocks or Danish modern furniture, but this heavy mahogany, intricately carved cherubs, gods, goddesses, and roses behemoth wouldn’t let her be. She was enchanted.
The mirror was easily eight feet by four feet in dimensions and would dominate a wall. “Where in the world would I put it,” she said aloud. At that the shopkeeper bustled over and said, “Why anywhere that needs a bit of beauty! I can let that go for $100 – cash and carry.”
“Wow. That seems awfully cheap for a Victorian mirror. What’s wrong with it?”
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The cold smacked him in the face and took his breath. The polar vortex_ the weather folks called it. When he was a kid, they called it the Siberian Express. Times change. The ambient temperature was below zero and with windchill his bones shuddered, and his toes went numb.
The assassin buttoned the top of his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. There was no hope for it. He would have to wear gloves. Otherwise, his fingers would get clumsy, and the cuts would not be as precise as was his wont. His mark, the doorman, would be outside even in this weather. It was the doorman’s job; it was the assassin’s job to kill him and leave him lying in front of the apartment as a warning to the others.
He pulled out the knife and looked into the blade, but the silvery mirror finish clouded over from his breath. It was too cold for condensation; the knife was encased in a thin layer of ice. He didn’t suppose that would make any difference, but still it bothered him. He liked a clean blade; one he could see his face in. He wiped the blade on his coat, but the metal immediately clouded over again. No hope for it.
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Today is officially Veteran’s Day. We observed it yesterday so working folk could have their paid day off, but today is actually the day. It was originally Armistice Day – the ceasefire on November 11, 1918 that officially ended World War I or what was then known as the Great War.
Veteran’s Day was always a happy holiday for me. It was the day after the Marine Corps Ball and my dad had the day off after a night of celebrating his calling in life. He was a Marine through and through until the day he died.
I was a Daddy’s girl through and through, but four tours of Vietnam took a toll. For more than four years between my ages of 7 and 14, he was away from home at war. In the in-between years, he was home and I was the apple of his eye. When he was finally done with Vietnam, my dad spent his energy keeping his PTSD from annihilating him. He had no more energy for me. When my son came along and put the light back in my dad’s eyes, I was both grateful and jealous. But he had something to live for once again. The two of them had an epic love story.
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W. Va. Fur and Root 