women

Moving Day

Sitting in the corner booth of the Old Town Diner, I've got today's paper spread out on the table and a yellow marker in hand – wanted, apartment for rent.  I'm on my third cup of coffee when Terry walks in. He sidles up and places an arm around my shoulders. “Whatcha doin', Ruby, my jewel? You’re just the person I’ve been wantin' to see.”

I heave a sigh in his direction. “Trying to find some place to live. I don’t think I can take another minute with my mother.”

Why buy me a beer?

If I were a musician, I could take my guitar or oboe or didgeridoo down to the Saturday Market and play and sing for you. You might applaud my feeble attempts and throw some spare change into the coffee can at my feet.

If I made triple scented candles from 100% natural, environmentally friendly, USA grown soy beans, then I might put up a website and for ten dollars sell you some light to brighten a dark, winter's night.

Where's my ham?

Roger, my husband, is a talented Drupal developer, and when I told him I wanted to create a website for my writing endeavors, he was happy to oblige. Together we selected a theme, and he added a few modules that fit my particular needs as a writer. He needed a placeholder for the site slogan, so, more as a joke than anything, he threw up "Where's my ham?"

Welcome Home

It's been one hell of a year on both the personal and global front. In March we bury our beautiful and beloved Aunt Beverly after she dies from a debilitating stroke. Thousands of innocents die in senseless wars; hundreds of thousands are injured. There's my tumor and hysterectomy. Oil prices balloon to $100 a barrel, and the economy collapses. Then, are you ready for this? God and I get a divorce.

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