The other day, I tried not to stare at the woman with long, scraggily hair streaked thickly with dull iron gray.  She was studying the meat, the chicken, the rows of sausages at the store.  I could see how she calculated the cost, how she looked at the prices and set them next to what was in her dollar store purse.  It was sad.  I finally looked away.  I imagined that she felt she didn't belong on the pretty aisle.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It wasn't tall fescue at all; it was Bermuda.  I had sown thousands upon thousands of tall fescue seeds in a small patch of my yard, but time and time again, the Southern sun would burn them off and turn the soil into dust.  So I tried another type of seed.  The analogy presented itself. The ground can be fertile, but at the end of the day, it is the type of seed we plant that matters.
Read more
I think it was John Updike who said that a person lives his life for thirty years and spends the rest of it trying to understand what happened.  At forty-three, I wonder if I have already turned that corner.  Have most of my mountains been scaled?  Am I now in the valley of self-reflection?
Read more
"I am so lonely, but I know there is a plan.  There must be.  I can muscle through my life until the next move is clear.  I miss you all so much.  I am alone for most of the time.  It's just me and the cats and dogs.  Nobody comes up.  Nobody stops by.  It's not like it used to be -- so full of life.  Perhaps I'll move down there with you.  But not now.  There is a plan, and I must follow it.  I must follow it even though it's too quiet around here."
Read more