True Story

 

Her family and friends told her she needed to move somewhere safer, but she’d always felt safe here on her little farm.

Sure, she was not the most popular old lady on the block, due to her political leanings and whatnot, but her neighbors would still help her if she needed it.

It happened as she was working by the barn, in view of the road.

The pickup roared past, and a young man yelled at her, “Nigger-lover!”

She stopped dead in her tracks, blood running cold, realizing that even though it was 2026, she still lived in Klan Country.

Zen

 

She sighed, trying to hold on to her composure, but it was now out of reach.

“Hey! Knock it off! I’m trying to be all zen and shit!”

Her evening yoga, tai chi and meditation took less than an hour. Was that too much to ask of a house where she was the only living human? She didn’t think so, but apparently it was.

The dogs, who spent 90% of the day sleeping, chose that time to chase each other, growling, yapping and knocking stuff over.

When she hollered, they stopped, and she heard her late husband’s voice clearly.

“Sorry.”

Age of Discontent

 

It finally happened. That thing she swore would never happen to her, no matter how old she got.

That thing where women of a certain age look at themselves and think, “I hate this about me and I’m going to change it and make it look younger.”

It wasn’t her hair. She loved that it was going gray.

It wasn’t her breasts. As long as they were comfortable and contained, she was happy with them.

It wasn’t her tummy. That tummy had grown three whole-ass human beings. It was fine.

She sighed and made appointments to get her tattoos re-done.

Old Trees

 

 She sat among the trees she’d loved for over two decades, once again filled with sorrow that she would be leaving them.

“How can I leave?” she whispered for the thousandth time since the decision had been made…to leave.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the wind in the trees, then to the trees themselves, their soft kind voices in her head.

“Little human, we love you, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you are exhausting. That younger forest has more energy than we do. We’ve protected your family through many crises. Please. We need to rest, now.”

Laundry

 

She loved doing laundry.

Make no mistake. She was terrible at it.

Not for her the separating of clothes into various piles.

On laundry day, she opened up the washer and dumped the entire contents of the hamper into it, set it to Normal/cold, added laundry softener (because she wasn’t a total barbarian), detergent, and oxi-clean (because she was sort of a barbarian), turned it on and wished it all well.

Then into the dryer.

She didn’t iron or fold anything.

But she loved the smell and warmth of clean laundry right out of the dryer.

And that was enough.

Lorenzo

 

It’s supposed to be a low-key, no-hassle, relaxing little jar of tranquility; a little item called “Life Under Glass”.

It’s basically a large jelly jar that comes with substrate, a shell, three sticks, 4 slips of aquatic plants, a moss ball…and Lorenzo.

Lorenzo came in his own baggie. He’s a snail.

He is not low-key, no-hassle or relaxing. Lorenzo is Chaos.

Sometimes he can’t be seen at all.

He looks deceased at least once a day, either half-buried in the substrate or literally upside down impersonating an empty shell.

But he’s fine.

He just sleeps that way.

What an asshole.

Barn Boots

 

She was pulling on her barn boots when it happened.

Her barn boots.

For almost half a century, the first shoes on her feet when she left the house were her barn boots so she could do chores before whatever else the day had in store for her.

She looked down at them, really looked at them.

They were always the same. Not the same pair, of course, but the same style every few years, as needed.

Tractor Supply Company polka dot lined barn boots.

She wouldn’t need them at her new place.

And her heart broke, just a little.