eight days

 

12days_fivegoldrings.jpg picture by pemerytx

 

Bernice had always married for security.  But she was obviously a poor judge of health, for all five of her husbands had died on her.  She’d kept all the wedding bands, telling herself she was waiting for gold to hit an all-time high.  But really, it was the idea of having them squirreled away—safe and sound in her hosiery drawer—that she was in love with.

 

 

PHOTO:  widow/cats http://www.geocities.com/bourdeka/images/Drakaioi/villagelife.jpg

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10 responses to “eight days

  1. Bernice had a hosiery drawer
    that gleamed and glistened gold.
    Her husbands died all natural deaths,
    the Constable was told…

  2. The idea of the rings in the drawer reminds me of tasks completed and then revisited, again and again, to re-experience the feeling of acomplishment. That sense of accomplishment…

  3. Hi present! I’m glad you stopped by with your take : ) Bernice does like that kind of security in addition to the more tangible-seeming sort ;-)

  4. Alright, Ursids, then. Picky, picky. I’m still trying to decide if racing my cursor across the monitor screen really does change the way the Ursids are falling. They seem to kind of dance with the motion, much like Bernice probably liked dancing slow with Stanley in his red trumpeter socks, in the red glow of the red candles at the old Nighthawk restaurant/bar on North Main. ‘Fore the asbestos got him.

    Keep the Feast a-comin’, Lady A. Nice.

  5. Five dead husbands? Perhaps the constable should get his head out of his doughnut and exhume those bodies. I think the coroner should perform autopsies.

  6. OK, I admit I can be a little “slow.” Now I get it. This is quite amazing in its construction. All of it. (And yes, I wish I had thought of it.)

  7. paschal, LOL! OK, Ursids. The timing is certainly perfect, 12/17 to 12/26 or so, which is about when I’ll play God and shut the snow off. I may leave it on through the New Year’s hoopla, though ;-) But you’re having fun with it, no? I’ve been where you went and now I’m trying to see if pushing my cursor up slows them down…I’m thinking no… Silly human tricks :-)
    I adored the scene you wrote for Bernice and Stanley! Trumpeter socks! Oh my Lord, what imagery!
    I’ll do my best feast-wise, for sure ;-)

    ____________

    Hey there BJ! I’m slidin’ in the on the better-late-than-never motto here. Yeah, five’s pretty fishy…and she doesn’t really look all that old… Barring anything weird happeing to Bernice, she’s got mucho time to insert a few more husbands into her life before she bites it herself ;-)

    ____________

    Thommy G! Say it ain’t so! Not you! Truth is, I’m flattered, smiling, blushing and all that. Actually, you sorta did think of it yourself…in an offhand sort of way… I”ve been reading so much of your writing it can’t help but rub off! : )

  8. Ms A: By all means, leave the snow on through the New Year! Here’s what I discovered about the Ursids this morning: if you simply move your cursor to the far left, the Ursids follow; likewise to the right. My experiment with quick-dancing just confused the poor things into quick petit mal seizures. Mea culpa.

    Stanley and Bernice were a riff off a short story I wrote ten years ago, entitled “Two Pair.” Trumpeter Louie wooing his sister-in-law Martha in the reddened Nighthawk dark. Somewhere in my family mythology comes (I think) the notion of red socks on horn players: I think it’s from my mother who, in her early years out of high school, sold records at San Antonio Music downtown: most of her customers were jazz musicians (my father also was a sales rep for Decca Records); her hanging out with them meant, apparently, that I made some pretty racy scenes in my infancy. When I wasn’t being hauled to all the Mary grottoes in town.

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