Monday, April 16, 2012

100 Words...April - June 2012

June 30, 2012

Standing at the threshold, he studied the intent look on her face as she worked. Quietly, he asked, “What are you doing?”

She spared him a quick glance, then bent again to her task. Surrounded by a plethora of womanly bottles and mysterious potions, he felt like he’d stumbled into an alchemist’s den.

“Serious research.” She straightened, finished with her project, critically assessing her handiwork.

Sitting beside her, he laughed, enchanted, when she raised her feet to the edge of the coffee table.

Each toenail was a different color, a kaleidoscope of gleaming beauty. She smiled, pleased at his appreciation.


 June 9, 2012


Muffled cursing drew him to the kitchen. Her head and shoulders were beneath the sink, his vision filled with a perfect view of her jeans-clad backside.

“What are you doing under there?”

“Trying to fix this dripping faucet.”

Crouching, he settled his hand on the warm curve of her exposed lower back. “Very nice view.”

Scowling over her shoulder. “Seriously?”

Grinning.“Oh yeah.”

“Could you make yourself useful and hand me that wrench?”

“Want some help?”

Silence. Then she stood, smiling, and gestured toward the sink.

Once underneath, he laughed when she murmured, “You’re right. It is a nice view.”


No Lost Moments
May 17, 2012

Camera steady, focused on the leaves overhead.

“What do you see?” The low, gravel-voiced question startled her just as she pressed the shutter, ruining the shot. Lowering the camera, she turned her head.

An old man leaned on a cane beside her, staring up into the trees before gazing at her, a curious look in his faded blue eyes.

“Light filtering through leaves,” she replied.

They both looked up.

“Huh,”he muttered, walking away.

Frustrated, the moment lost for her shot, she watched the old man shamble off. Then, smiling, she raised her camera. Not a moment lost after all.



April 16, 2012

“I call shotgun.”

“You can’t call shotgun two hours before we get in the car!”

“I just did.”

“Well, you can’t.  There are shotgun rules.”


“As the oldest, I get first dibs.”

“You so don’t!  I’m telling.”

“Snitch.”  Matching scowls.  “First rule:  you can’t call shotgun until we're just ready to leave.  Second rule:  whoever calls it first, gets it, no debate.”


Two hours later, racing toward the car, simultaneously shouting, “Shotgun!”

Husbands shake their heads.  One man got behind the wheel, the other held the door open to the back seat.  “Sorry ladies.  I called it first.”