My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie There should be a word for that moment when you encounter someone you met online that you never thought you'd meet, in the flesh. Luckily for everyone alive, I've come up with that word:  eDezvous. Or, if you're pedantic and don't like capital letters in the middle of your words, edezvous would work just as well. Simple enough word to create: Just slap that iconic lower case e in front of the word rendezvous after the ren has been sawed off like the end of a trailer inhabitant's shotgun, and you have a beautiful mutilation of the French language and an homage to the World Wide Web as it was in the 1990s. An eDezvous is rather difficult to encounter because usually, who you know is far away enough not to wind up at the same café where you get your typical five ounce hot chocolate in an eight ounce mug so the extra whipped cream doesn't spill over the end. I have had friends as far as Florida and as close as two towns north of me. In f...

I ain't scared of sharks, my boy. It's sharks who are scared of me. Why, all thirteen of the scars on my arms are from melees under the sea. Why, I've harpooned and wrestled whales of all kinds, and challenged orcas to free-for-alls. I've been victorious against the giant squid and sea monsters over fifty feet tall. Ever wonder why Nessie don't show her face? It's because of me, after all.

Okay. So I had a good Thanksgiving. I started on some of my credential work. Buuuuut I'm also fighting a cold. So excuse me while I burrow under the covers with a book and try to sleep this sick off. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone!

No Sale by Belinda Roddie It's Black Friday. Time to put bars in the window.

After the banquet, we cleared our plates. We scraped the crumbs into bins and buckets. The larger scraps, we scooped into bowls and tins and containers, covering them up with foil and plastic lids. Then, when the leftovers were packed and the tablecloth shaken outside to get rid of the remaining bits and pieces, we loaded the goods into the back of our truck and drove through our neighborhood, visiting every house where our poorer friends lived. And we served them a banquet of their own.

The Turkeys Ran Away by Belinda Roddie The turkeys ran away once they heard news that Thanksgiving was upon them again. One turkey played the banjo, sang the blues, and practiced paltry (and poultry) laments. The birds all gathered and set up a camp, serving each other plates of pecan pie, and burned their feathers just to light their lamps at night so the bravest could keep an eye out for hunters or animals hungry for white or dark meat. When the morning came, the last notes of the banjo left to die, and a gunshot was heard across the lane where the turkeys slept. Boy, they clucked and prayed, but they could not escape the holiday.

I gave Roger twenty bucks in exchange for one of the fattest, juiciest turkeys he had prepared in the deli. When I took it home, I was giddy. Soon, the feasting would begin. The crispy skin on the poultry goodness as it simmered, gleaming, in the oven. The mashed potatoes laden with fresh butter and salt that would make my tongue dance. The casseroles and salads set to complement the copious wine and beer flowing from the bottles, just in time for the richness of the pie.