Category: Slice of Life

Flashback Friday: The New Kid

This story was first posted on August 29, 2017. I love how kids can live in the worlds they imagine and try to convince others to join in. For them, anything is possible.

“Hi, I’m Jason,” a boy said. “You’re the new kid.” He was wearing a blue shirt with a big red letter J on it. Martha was pretty sure he wasn’t in her class. She’d remember a shirt like that.

Jason raised his eyebrows. Had he asked a question? “Yes, I’m new,” she said when it seemed like Jason wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Are you evil?” he asked.

“No,” Martha said.

“Are you sure? What do you do for fun?” Jason asked.

“I like to draw.”

Jason crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “What do you draw?”

“Mostly horses,” Martha said. “I like horses.”

“That’s boring.” Jason walked away.

During recess, Susan and Amy introduced themselves to Martha. “What do you think of our school so far?” Susan asked.

Martha paused.“It’s nice,”.

“You paused before you said that,” Amy said. “Is there something wrong?”

“I met a boy named Jason.” Martha frowned. “He asked me if I’m evil.”

Susan laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure he didn’t mean it personally.”

“Then why did he ask me that? And then he said I’m boring.”

“Jason wants to be a superhero when he grows up.” Amy shrugged. “He’s been watching everyone since kindergarten.   He’s looking for his arch rival supervillain.”

“So, I’m just the latest suspect?” Martha asked.

“Like all the rest of us,” Susan said. “Like I said, it isn’t personal.”

“He caught a litterer once. And someone cheating on a test.” Amy counted Jason’s successes on her fingers.

“Did he try to beat them up or something?” Martha asked.

“No, he held up his hand like he was telling them to stop, and then he started saying pew-pew-pew-pew until a teacher convinced him to tell them what was wrong.” Susan held up her hand to demonstrate. Martha laughed.

Just then there was some yelling by the slides. Above the other voices, they could hear someone yell.   “Pew-pew-pew-pew!” The recess monitor hurried over and the yelling stopped.

“Was that Jason?” Martha asked.

“Yeah. Someone was probably cutting in line,” Amy said. “Jason hates that. Do you like playing jump rope?   If there are three of us we could take turns jumping.”

Susan clapped her hands. “That’s a great idea! We haven’t been able to jump rope since Linda moved.”

“I love to jump rope.” Martha followed her new friends to check out a jump rope from the equipment box.


Weeks passed. Martha and Susan and Amy had soon attracted a group of girls who liked to jump rope too. One day a new girl joined them. “Hi, are you new?” Martha asked.

“A weird boy just asked me that,” the girl said.

“It must have been Jason,” Martha said. “He asked me that when I moved in too. Did he ask you if you’re evil?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “Oh, what’s your name, by the way? I’m April.”

“I’m Martha.” Martha held up her end of the rope. “Do you like to jump rope?”

“I love to jump rope,” April said.

The girls started to jump rope. One verse into Cinderella Dressed in Yellow, Jason walked by and stared at them suspiciously. “I’m watching you, new girl.” He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then pointed them at April. He backed away slowly, only tripping once.

Martha looked at April. “Why is Jason watching you? He said I was boring.”

“I told him that someday I’m going to rule the world.” April smiled.

Little Monster Goes to the Dentist

It was that terrible, horrible, awful, scary time of year again. No, it wasn’t Halloween. That would have been much, much better. It was time for Little Monster to go to the dentist.

“My teeth are fine,” Little Monster said. He smiled a wide, sharp-toothed grin. “See? They’re all there and they work great. Why bother the dentist?”

Mama Monster rolled her large yellow eyes. “It won’t bother the dentist. It’s her job to check on monster teeth so they stay healthy.”

Little Monster coughed a little, unconvincing cough. “I think I have a cold. We’d better not spread it around. We might as well reschedule.”

“Hmmmm.” Mama Monster picked up her purse. “We’ll let them know when we check in, but I think it’ll be fine.”

On the way to the door, Little Monster fell dramatically over a chair. “Ouch! I think I broke both my legs. I’d better go lie down.”

Mama Monster scooped him up and carried him out to the car. “I guess I’ll make an appointment with the doctor as well.”

Little Monster sat up straight in his booster seat, looking worried. “Actually, I think my leg is all better now. I don’t need to see the doctor.”

“Well, that’s good.” Mama Monster started the car and drove to the dentist’s office.

At the front door, Little Monster paused. “Are you sure we need to go to the dentist today? Wouldn’t another day be better? We should think about this. I think it’s a bad idea. Remember my cold?” Little Monster coughed another little cough.

Mama Monster opened the door. “Come in and sit down. I’ll let the receptionist know about your cold.” Little Monster sat in a terrible pink chair with a scowl. Mama Monster walked up to the front desk. “Little Monster thinks he might have a cold.”

“That’s fine,” the receptionist said. “The dentist wears a mask and gloves.”

At that moment, Little Monster knew that he was going to actually see the dentist and there wasn’t much he could do about it. It’s not easy being a little monster. He decided that someday he would get to choose whether or not to visit the dentist. He would choose to not visit the dentist.

All too soon, Little Monster was sitting on an awful dentist chair decorated with horrible rainbows. The dentist came out wearing a frightening people mask and people gloves. Little Monster screamed. Mama Monster and the dentist chuckled as the dentist changed her mask and gloves to something more normal.

Little Monster didn’t think it was funny.

“Have you been brushing your teeth?” the dentist asked, leaning his chair back.

Little Monster smiled widely. “Yes. I brush everyday with my brussel sprout toothpaste.”

“Oh, the green slimey one? I love that toothpaste,” the dentist said.

“So, since I brush everyday, I don’t need to be here, right?” Little Monster tried to sit up.

Mama Monster put a paw on his shoulder. “Nice try.”

“Open up,” the dentist said.

The next twenty minutes weren’t so bad. Unfortunately, after the dentist finished poking Little Monster’s teeth with something sharp, she turned to Mama Monster and said something scary. “His teeth look boring.”

“Oh no,” Mama Monster said. “I was afraid of that. I kept hoping they’d get more crooked as he got older.”

“I’m afraid that if you don’t do anything, they’ll remain straight as straight can be.”

Little Monster crossed his arms and glared. This was hard to do when lying in a dentist chair, but Little Monster was always good at glares. “I like straight teeth.”

Mama Monster shook her head sadly. “The other monsters at school might tease you.”

“I don’t care.” Little Monster turned his head away from the dentist. “They’re my teeth, and I like them. I don’t want braces.”

Mama Monster sighed.

“Maybe we can wait until he’s a little older.” The dentist clicked a few keys on her computer keyboard. “But the later you start, the later it will be until he’s done. I’ll send you home with some brochures. We can customize his look. We have a lot of options for artful, attention-getting crooked teeth.”

“I want to go home,” Little Monster whined.

“Not yet,” the dentist said. “You still need to get your teeth cleaned.”

“But I brush them every day,” Little Monster said. No one listened. Little Monster resolved to catch the flu next time he had an appointment. He never wanted to go to a dentist appointment again.

Flashback Friday: Buckets of Fun

This story was originally posted on May 4, 2017. This is the first of a series about Grandpa and his tall tales and the vaguely scary baby Carrie. They’re a lot of fun to write. I hope they’re fun to read, too.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride that roller coaster?” Jim asked as they drove past the fair. “It looks amazing.”

“I’m sure it would be buckets of fun,” Grandpa said.

“Fun doesn’t come in buckets, Grandpa,” Lynn said. “That’s silly.”

“It did when I was younger,” Grandpa said.

“Oh good, a Grandpa story,” Jim said. He shook his brother’s arm. “Neil, wake up.   Grandpa is going to tell a story.”

Three sets of eyes turned to watch the back of Grandpa’s head. “Is everyone ready?” he asked.

“Carrie’s asleep,” Lynn said. “But she’s too little to really understand what we’re talking about anyways.”

“Don’t wake up Carrie,” Jim said. “She’s really grumpy when she doesn’t get enough sleep. It’s kind of scary.”

“Go ahead and start the story, Grandpa,” Neil said. “Please.”

“All right then,” Grandpa said. “Long ago, when I was a lad and the earth was young…”

“You make it sound like you’re as old as dinosaurs,” Lynn said. “That really can’t be true. People don’t live that long.”

“Well, sadly, I’m even older than dirt,” Grandpa said.

“How can you be older than dirt?” Neil asked.

“When I was young, the earth was still covered in packing peanuts, just the way they sent it from the factory. The dirt came later when everyone got busy and fell behind on washing up,” Grandpa said.

“Where did the dirt come from?” Jim asked.

“Out of nowhere, like it always does,” Grandpa said.

“Dirt is mostly made up of minerals and decayed things,” Lynn said. “And no one is older than dirt.”

“Let Grandpa tell the story, Lynn. We still haven’t heard about the buckets,” Jim said.

“Fine,” Lynn said. “But it’s not a true story.”

“Stories don’t have to be about things that really happened to be true,” Neil said.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Lynn said.

“Shall I continue?” Grandpa asked.

“Yes,” Jim said. “Please do.”

“So, when I was a lad, no one liked to do anything. We all sat around and looked at each other when we weren’t out poking through the packing peanuts for something to eat. I once spent ten years digging a hole in a rock with my big toe for something to do.”

“And then what happened?” Neil asked.

“And then someone found the fountain of youth,” Grandpa said.

“Is that how you lived so long?” Jim asked.

“No, the fountain of youth doesn’t make you old.” Grandpa said. “Of course not. The fountain of youth made things fun.”

“How did that work?” Lynn asked.

“Well,” Grandpa said. “Fun used to be dispensed twice a month in buckets. You would pour it over the activities that needed it the most.   Eventually it soaked in and people liked doing strange things like being scared or sitting around listening to noises.”

“People don’t like doing things like that,” Lynn said.

“Sure they do,” Grandpa said. “They ride roller coasters and go to haunted houses and tell scary stories. They put together strange contraptions made of metal and wood and people sit around and listen to the sounds they make. They call it music.”

“I guess when you say it like that,” Lynn said.

“Where are the buckets now, Grandpa?” Jim asked.

“They don’t need them anymore,” Grandpa said. “People know how to have fun.”

“Where is the fountain of youth?” Neil asked.

“I forgot,” Grandpa said. “Old people forget things all the time, you know.”

“Grandpa, you aren’t really that old,” Lynn said.

“How old are you, Grandpa?” Jim asked.

“Oh look,” Grandpa said. “We’re home. Everybody out. I’ll wake Carrie.” He never did answer the question.

Flashback Friday: His First and Last Solo

This story was first posted on July 26, 2017. I once attended an orchestra concert at an elementary school where someone’s bow went flying during one of the pieces. It was definitely a highlight of the concert. It was for me, anyway.

Gerard started playing the violin when he was three years old.  He had two lessons, and then quit because he hated to practice.  He picked it up again when he was ten and didn’t mind practicing so much.  It helped that he didn’t really practice all that often, of course.

Perhaps for that reason, he continued taking violin lessons for the next seven years.  By then, he was good enough that it was fun to practice.  He could play famous songs and sound somewhat good.  So, he continued to play and practice and practice and play.

After years of effort, he managed to earn a spot in the city orchestra.  This was very motivating.  Gerard began to practice like he never had before.  And, one day, after years and years of work, he worked his way up to fourth chair violin.

Gerard had to practice constantly to keep his place, but he was proud of his position on the orchestra.  He sat on the front row, nearly facing the conductor, and sometimes he felt like the star of the orchestra.

And then, one day, they had a potluck sectional practice.  All the violin players brought food from home to share after the practice.  They usually practiced and practiced and were corrected and corrected.  Then they went home.

But today, they ate potato salad and potato chips and deviled eggs and talked about the weather.  Well, Gerard talked about the weather anyway.  Some of the rest talked politics, and then most of the violinists were so angry that the meeting ended quickly.  People just picked up their dishes and left.

Gerard, who hadn’t eaten anything but a few of the potato chips he’d brought, went home and made himself a ham sandwich with extra mustard.  Then he practiced his violin, because it turned out that he had a little bit of free time, and he never, ever, ever was going back to the second row of violins.

That evening, the phone rang.  More than half of the violin section had food poisoning, and that included the first three violins.  Gerard was going to be first violin for the benefit concert.  “Was it the potato salad?” Gerard asked.

“Why do you ask?” the conductor asked.  “Did you bring the potato salad?”

“No.  I brought potato chips.  I just thought that it was always the potato salad on TV, isn’t it?”  Gerard said.   Now he was feeling a little nervous.  If the police came to question him, how would he prove that he didn’t bring the potato salad?

Who brought the potato salad?  Did they poison everyone on purpose?  Would they come after him next now that he was temporary first chair?  He hadn’t realized that accepting the position would make him such a target.

Gerard didn’t want to think about it, so he practiced even more.  After all, he’d be playing as first chair violin in two days, and this time he had a solo.  Gerard wasn’t sure if he was more happy or terrified.

The day of the concert came.  Gerard didn’t like his new seat on the end of the row where everyone could stare at him.  He tried to block all that out and play his best.  Everything started out okay.  And then, four pages before his solo, at the end of a difficult run, his bow somehow flew out of his hand and disappeared somewhere behind him.

Gerard turned around in his chair.  Everyone was playing as though nothing had happened and there hadn’t been a flying violin bow anywhere.  He looked under his seat through the maze of feet.    There it was.  Three rows back.

He looked at the score and flipped forward two pages to where the orchestra was currently playing.  There just wasn’t time.  He turned and poked the seventh chair violinist sitting next to him.  The man frowned and kept playing.

Gerard took a deep breath and started to tickle the violinist.  The man paused and Gerard’s hand darted out and stole his bow.  It was just in time.  Gerard felt all eyes on him as he played his solo.

The moment he was done, the bow was snatched out of his hands, and the scowling seventh chair violinist started playing again.   Face burning with embarrassment, Gerard stood and walked back three rows.

He tried to carefully navigate the cramped spaces between chairs and stands.  He only knocked over one music stand.  He caught it before it hit the floor, but the music went everywhere.  Ignoring the whispered insults, he dove for his bow and hurried back to his seat.  The show must go on, and all that.

In the end, even though he hoped no one noticed his slight mishap, it ended up being all anyone wanted to talk about.  Even a year later, people kept coming up to tell him that it had been their favorite concert.  And the seventh chair violinist was still glaring at him and offering to serve him some potato salad.

Gerard knew that everyone else thought that was a joke.  But Gerard wasn’t so sure.  He was pretty sure he saw mayonnaise packets in the man’s violin case once.

A Strange Beach Trip

Melissa’s family decided to go to the beach over spring break. They had to drive for hours to get there. As they drove further south, they found sunny weather and blue skies. The warm sun felt fabulous. It had been a long, cold winter.

It was evening when they arrived at their hotel. It was large and painted bright green. After they checked in, the desk clerk gave them a map. “A lot of our guests get lost,” she said. “I marked your room right here.”

Melissa peeked at the map. It was quite confusing. It looked like there were a number of separate buildings and sunrooms and courtyards. “That looks like a long walk from here,” she said.

“Oh, you can drive to the closest parking lot,” the desk clerk said. So, they took their suitcases back outside and drove around the back to another building nearby.

“I am so tired,” Melissa’s mom said. “Let’s just find our room and get to bed. We had a late lunch.”

“But I’m hungry,” Michael said.

Melissa’s dad pulled out his wallet. “Here, I’ll give you money for the vending machine. I’m sure there’s one somewhere. Take your sister. Melissa, do you have your phone?”

“Yes,” Melissa said. “Can I take the map?”

“Here you go,” he said. “Take your suitcases in before you go.”

Michael and Melissa cut through the courtyard to get to the vending machine. “Left, left, and then right,” Melissa said. Michael nodded. Soon they’d found the vending machines. While Michael was making his choices, Melissa bought a granola bar and some rice cakes. It was time to go back.

She looked at the map. If she turned it around, it should be easy to figure out, right? Unfortunately, they turned wrong at one of the corners and ended up somewhere else.

“This map doesn’t have room numbers,” she said. “How are you supposed to figure out where you are if you’re lost? I’m going to complain in the morning.” Michael rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. Melissa pulled out her phone. Should she call? How would their parents find them? She had the map.

Just then, a parrot waddled down the corridor. It looked up at her. “Lost?” it asked.

“Yes,” Melissa said. “All the rooms in our hallway had a picture of the sun by the room number.” She looked around. “These have trees. Do you know the way to the sun hallway?”

“Map,” it said. Melissa held out the map. The parrot tapped on a short corridor and then bobbed its head and waddled away. It held up a little ankle bracelet in front of what Melissa had thought was a doorstop. The door opened up and the parrot slipped inside.

Melissa looked back at the map. She was almost back to the courtyard. She’d just have to go left and then right. She marched off. Michael followed her. “Melissa, did that parrot just talk?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Oh, okay,” he said. He opened a bag of chips and started eating. When they got back to the room, their parents were watching the weather channel.

“It’s going to be beautiful tomorrow,” Melissa’s mom said.

The beach was crowded the next morning. Melissa’s parents put out beach towels and umbrellas and told Melissa and Michael not to wander too far. Michael left his sandals by the towels and ran towards the water.

Melissa decided to explore. She trudged over to a large sand dune. Her feet slid down the sand as she climbed. It took longer than she thought. From the top she could still see her parents’ umbrellas.

Behind the dune there was a little, hidden bay filled with birds. There were birds of all colors and sizes darting here and there. A parrot was perched on a wooden pole near the edge of the water. Melissa shuffled over, the warm sand dusting her feet with each step and sticking between her toes.

“Hi, were you the parrot that helped me last night when I got lost?” she asked.

“Yes,” the parrot said.

“Well, um, thank you,” she said. “I got back to my family just fine.” The parrot nodded and looked away.

Melissa looked around. When she looked at them, a group of brown birds scuttled away. She looked the other way and a large white bird flew off chattering in a scolding voice. Two blue birds nearby looked away when she looked at them. She felt out of place and awkward.

“I bet my parents are wondering where I am,” she said. “I’d better go.” The parrot didn’t look at her. “Goodbye. Thanks again,” she said. She climbed back up the sand dune. When she got to the top she looked back. She couldn’t see the little bay.

Melissa hurried back to her parents. “Mom, Dad, I know where the birds go for the winter,” she said. “Right here.”

Melissa’s dad nodded. “That makes sense. If I could come stay here for the whole winter, I would too.”

Melissa ran to join Michael by the water. They had a wonderful day. Melissa hoped the birds did too. She looked around for the parrot the next day when they went back to the beach, but she never saw it again.

Flashback Friday: Baking a Pie

I thought this would be a great story to share again just in time for Mother’s Day. It originally appeared on May 23, 2017.

Chad checked the phone and saw that it was his sister Sally calling. He pushed the button to take the call.   Sally’s voice came through the phone, sounding bright and cheerful. “Hi Chad, let’s get together for Mom’s birthday.”

“I’m fine. And how are you?” Chad asked.

Sally sighed. “Really Chad? Fine. Tell me how you’ve been.”

“I told you I’m fine,” Chad said.

“Chad.” Sally said. She sounded irritated. Even all grown up, Chad thought that was rather funny. So he laughed.

“I was going to go visit her anyway. What did you have in mind?” Chad asked.

“I was planning a nice dinner so that she doesn’t have to cook. Monica is going to help me make chicken pot pies.   Jared is bringing a salad. So, you get dessert,” Sally said. Her voice was back to bright and cheerful.   Chad scowled at the phone.

“Why do I get the last choice?” he asked.

“Because you’re the youngest. Just buy a bag of cookies or some ice cream or fruit snacks or something. It’s not a big deal,” Sally said.

“Fine,” Chad said. “But I’m going to bake something. It’s going to be the best thing anyone’s ever eaten. You’ll beg me for the recipe, and I won’t give it to you.   Then you’ll be sorry.”

“That sounds nice,” Sally said. “I’ll see you on Saturday at five. Don’t be late.”

She hung up. Chad frowned. He had three days to figure out how to bake something amazing. That shouldn’t be so bad.

After watching some videos about making sculptures out of sugar and cooking things with blowtorches, Chad decided to think a little less big. Who knew that creating desserts would require so many expensive tools?

Chad started going through his cupboards to see what tools he did have.   After a bit of searching, he found and old pie tin. Perfect.   He could bake a pie. His mother loved pumpkin pie.

He looked online for a recipe and printed it up. Then he accidentally left it home when he went to the store.   That shouldn’t be a problem. He knew what he needed. Let’s see. It was a pumpkin pie. He needed a pumpkin. He checked the produce section. There weren’t any pumpkins.

He found someone in an apron unpacking boxes of apples.   “Where are the pumpkins?” he asked.

“Sorry, it’s the wrong season for them. We’ll have them in the fall,” the man said.

Who knew that things could be seasonal?   Strange. Chad picked up some big purple vegetable. It looked big enough to fill a pie and his mom loved purple.   What else did he need? Eggs, butter. He still had sugar in the cupboard.

He went home to check his recipe. It said he needed pumpkin pie filling. He looked that up. It came in a can, but you could make it by cooking the pumpkin.   No problem. He’d use the directions and cook the purple thing.

He didn’t have flour, so he substituted cornmeal.   He didn’t have pumpkin pie spice, so he used hot sauce. That should be plenty spicy. He ran out of sugar and substituted salt.

Despite the minor setbacks, the pie came out of the oven looking beautiful. There was just enough time for it to cool. Chad felt a sense of accomplishment. Maybe he should have gone to school to be a chef. He obviously had a natural talent for cooking.   Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he should buy himself a blowtorch.

He packed towels around the pie and drove slowly to his mom’s house. He drove carefully around every corner and ignored the line of cars behind him honking at him to go faster. They didn’t know that he had a beautiful pie to protect.

Chad proudly presented the pie to his mother and wished her a happy birthday. Everyone was impressed by Chad’s beautiful pie. Even Sally. Chad smiled and soaked in the praise. He ate quickly, looking forward to finally tasting his masterpiece.

He cut just the right number of wedges and carefully slid them onto the plates. He passed them around and everyone took their first bite. It tasted strange. Not at all like a pumpkin pie. Perhaps the flavor wasn’t so bad, but it was hard to tell because of how salty it was.

It was inedible. Chad tried to choke down another bite anyway. He looked around the table. Monica and Jared were making faces. Dad was gulping water from his glass. Sally looked like she was trying not to laugh.

But mom was smiling and eating her pie as though it was wonderful. “Maybe a little less salt next time dear, but I think that you had some great ideas here,” she said. “Well done.”

Chad took another bite. No, it really wasn’t good. His mother smiled. He smiled back. “Thanks, mom,” he said. “I was thinking of buying a blowtorch.   Maybe I can make you something else.”

“I’d like that,” she said.