Merry Christmas, Evil Larry (names changed to protect the guilty)

Reblogged from last year


My brother just called to remind me of his troubles with our cousin Larry, the bane of his existence. Larry was probably the only reason I had to be glad I wasn’t a boy when I was a kid. Thanks for that, Larry. Larry was fifteen months younger than me, falling right between me and Bill in age. Back then, our families had lots of overnight visits. Poor Bill

View original post 487 more words

Smorgasbord Christmas Party -Guest Tina Frisco with Jewel and the Christmas Tree

Reblog from Smorgasbard

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

christmas party

I am delighted to welcome author and friend Tina Frisco to the Christmas party, with an ethereal short story about Jewel a little girl with special powers.

Jewel and the Christmas Tree by Tina Frisco

“Get away from that tree, you little gamine! I didn’t decorate it only to have you come along and ruin everything!”

His voice was harsh and threatening. Jewel ran all the way home as fast as her little seven-year-old feet could carry her. Mumzy was there ready to comfort, but they had no heat and the walls were stone. They also had very little else worth mentioning. But mumzy always made her feel safe and well-provided for.

The townspeople called Jewel’s mother Ruby, because when the sun caught her flaxen hair, it shone blood-red. They didn’t like her. She never hesitated to speak her mind. So whenever anything went missing from their yards or chicken…

View original post 1,470 more words

Heartbreaking Tale of the Post-Mortem Fruitcake Theft

Reblog of a story posted last Christmas


My grandma died December 16, 1964.  I was devastated.  She was always accepting of me and seemed not to notice my faults.  She had mailed her Christmas gifts to us the morning of the evening of her death.  The box arrived two or three days after her funeral.  It was a macabre feeling, being anxious to find out what she’d sent, knowing she was in

View original post 154 more words

Hard Time Marrying Part 26


Image pulled from internet

Though Anya had initially invited Joe into her bed out of gratitude, over the next months  she learned to love him passionately, looking forward to their time together in the rope bed.  Neither of them had a lot to say, but the little family thrived.  Sally had gone from toddling to running and was speaking in short sentences.  Little Joe now called them “Ma”  and “Pa,” likely forgetting the poor woman who’d born him.  Anya was the only one Sally had ever called “Ma.”

Joe and Anya traded visits with Emma and Rufus a couple of times over the summer with Emma promising to attend her baby’s birth.  Anya came to depend on her like a mother, taking comfort in her company, grateful she didn’t have to feel awkward about the timing of the upcoming birth.  Emma never brought the subject up again, just reminded Anya to have Joe fetch her when he time came.

One Saturday evening Melvin came riding over to let them know he’d be marrying Jenny in a couple of weeks.  Emma sent word they should come to the wedding.  Joe told Melvin they’d try if Anya was up to it, but as soon as he was out of earshot, reminded Anya.  “We got to lay low.  It was night and the woman was bundled up against the cold, but that preacher might see  you ain’t the woman I married.  There ought’n to be no questions about you long as that preacher don’t git to nosin’ around.  Nobody else was there for the marryin’. We’ll just say you ain’t well an’ keep to the house.”  Joe didn’t think much of preachers and was rankled that this one stood between him and Anya.

It pained Anya to shun her friend’s joy, but knew they dared not risk discovery.  She’d been lulled into a sense of general well-being with her life with Joe and pregnancy hormones.  She had begun to look forward to the little one, hoping it would be a girl who looked like her own baby sister.  Joe lay spooned against her at night, often stroking her belly in his sleep as he nuzzled her shoulder.  Anya wouldn’t have changed anything about her life.

Joe looked around the small cabin the next morning.  “We’re gonna be spllin’ out of this cabin son.  Next spring, I’m gonna put in a few acres of grain for a cash crop so we can add on a room an’ maybe get you a cook-stove.  A woman that cooks like you  ought’a have her a stove.  Joe scooped Sally up and tickled her as she darted by in pursuit of her kitten.”  Life was good.