This Friday’s image is of a time not long past. We may have bettered our lot since then, but will we hold on to it? Post your story in the comments. 100 words is all you need.
I’ll start with a story …
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We sipped tea. Across the tiny room, through the open door, Mom lay, tiny and grey against the pillows.
“Your mom has pneumonia.”
“Oh, God.”
“Used to be,” she continued, “I’d just have you take her to the hospital …”
“I already tried.”
“Her credit that low?”
“She was a teacher but got caught teaching … Shakespeare, Dickens …”
“Ah! A rebel.” She pulled up a sleeve revealing a tiny caduceus tattoo. “Me, too.”
“I gave her a shot. There are some pills under her pillow. Keep her home, out of sight until others forget she was sick at all.”
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Now, it’s your turn …
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feature image Wikimedia, Public Domain
George V says: Journal entry 1, March 15, 2025. It was good to move out in the country when I retired, although this isn’t my retirement house. That one was burned when the mobs came through after we bugged out. I found this place just in time, abandoned years ago, when the SUV was down to it’s last fumes. A big thanks to those who engineered real 4 wheel drive, and to me for hanging on to that old tank and keeping it well stocked with tools and clothing. Now we have plenty of wood for heat, water from the spring, fish from the river, and the woods have some game we can snare and wild plants to eat.
Just amazing how fast it all fell apart. When the electric and water started getting the mobs started to rampage, eventually coming up into the foothills taking what they could and burning the rest, when they weren’t killing each other. We almost got caught a couple of times. I don’t think they’ll get this far into the high country. It would be nice to find some like minded folk back here and we could watch each other’s backs.
I’ll pick this up later – the grandkids are running up the two-track yelling about something.
March 17
Well, that was a close call
Cameron says: Dad and I sat on the porch the sun was setting and we had drinks in hand (Whiskey for him, lemonade for me back then). “Son, you ever thought about why I live here?”
“Pretty much every day.”
“I know. You’re young and want to get out just like I did. But I could have a huge mansion with acres of land with the skills I have. You know what this place offers instead?”
“No neighbors?”
He smiled. “No. It’s mine and I earned it.”
Ten years later, I’d be remembering that conversation as I took ownership of the house.
Fletch says: Well, there we was living the good life: me, cousin Tater, Huck and his sister Wynonna, when – just right there – out of the blue – the dog decides she’s the true owner of the house. Barked at us, told us we weren’t welcome. Well, I tell you that hurt, right here, right in my heart.
Now, he’s hired himself a beagle as a lawyer – course we didn’t have money to hire a lawyer, so we had to throw ourselves on the mercy of the court. I reckon the dog will get the pups, seems like mom’s always wind up with the kids.
OldTexan says: The 1920’s were hard on most people, Cora, Nora, Millie and Maude were sisters who live way up the hill and had to make do. And make do they did, the bootlegger would make regular trips out to their place at the end of the road where they sold the finest, best finished, sour mash, whiskey put up meticulously and sealed in old Mason jars and sold for top dollar.
Steven Criss says: I was four, I guess. Dad was at work, and mom had her hands full with her youngest.
Grandma would come over to help take care of things.
Dad stacked wood for the stove in a dumb waiter, when mom opened it, a rat jumped out.
Mom screamed!
That’s when Grandma went into action.
Grandma shoved mom up onto the kitchen table, stooped down, grabbed my younger brother and tossed him into her arms. She then grabbed the broom, chased the rat into a corner and with a single stomp, dispatched it.
She then flung the read rat out the kitchen window, and then took mom and my brother into the bed room.
Returning to the kitchen, she saw me sitting on the kitchen floor.
I remember saying “you stepped on the mouse”. She answered back saying the mouse scared mom.
Grandma could see I was still a bit distressed, and asked if I wanted to help her make cookies.
“YES!”, and life went on.
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