Skips a Generation
I was a purple freak as a kid, but I adored my grandpa. The facts about my grandpa were clear: his favorite food was cheese, he fell asleep in the recliner after dinner (and three Manhattans), he drove my grandma crazy, and he LOVED RED. For his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, he got a ruby ring as a reward for not taking off that pesky wedding ring in all those years.
Ten years ago my son took up a fixation with Po—the red Teletubby. His wardrobe has been filled with red ever since. I think he comes by it naturally.
The next insightful literary work is done by a Burrower who is master of many talents - writer, runner, mother, gardener, photographer and so much more. She devotes her time to all these aspects and still has time to be a profit sector professional. She is amazing.
The Impetuousness of Youth. The Belief that Violence could Right a Wrong. I Picked up a Gun. Shot down Innocents in a Random Act of Violence. Witnesses Swore I was Elsewhere. The Law could pin Nothing on Me. I am Free. Free to Do Whatever I Choose.
She will Not Leave Me. Her Eyes Follow me Everywhere. Pleading with Me to Save her Child. Burning in Anger after I Gunned Him Down. From Her, there is No Escape.
She is my Jailer. I am Stuck in a Prison Cell of my own Making. Forever Looking Out. Forever Hoping for Redemption.
The next drabble is written by our Taffy resident Burrower who incorporates humor, empathy, zaniness and honesty into all of her work.
In Your Shoes
Like all little girls, I used to love playing dress-up. I had a box filled with old clothes, scraps of fabric, and a few hats. Everything you needed to play pretend. The only things missing were the shoes, which I’d have to sneak from my mother’s closet. Pointy toes, shiny shoes, high heels, strappy sandals, sparkly shoes; all found their way to my feet at some point, and I’d teeter and totter all over the place. Thirty years later, you can still find me balancing in inappropriate footwear. Some things you never grow out of. And really... who wants to?
The last glimpse is from our philosophical resident Burrower. He is witty and a comedic genius who is also thoroughly creative and analytical when it comes to writing. Here is one of his wonderful contributions . . .
No, there's nothing in my hands. Still.
Oh, you remember last time you asked? I explained that it was an exercise to develop the power for crushing my enemies.
"Tiny enemies," ha ha. Very funny. The exercise is not physical, but rather intended to fine-tune the necessary mental state.
What's that? You don't understand the necessity, because you don't see any of these "alleged" foes? You're laughing, aren't you?
Actually, you're right. I'm not doing that exercise because I haven't seen any such enemies for quite a while. Right now, I'm massaging my calloused palms.
And I'm laughing, too.
So check us out at The Burrow Home.