Pamela Wight's Blog, page 3

Fantastical but True

Although this post may sound a bit fanciful, or fantastical, or even impossible, it’s 100% true.

Almost 18 months ago, on a cold and snowy January morning, my 10-year-old grandson played Monopoly with me for 2 ½ hours.

That’s not the fantastical part.

Immediately after, grandson Neville and I baked his favorite cookies: Stickeydoodles (originally called Snickerdoodles but Neville changed the name for reasons you can guess).

That’s not the fanciful part.

Later...

Linked with the Squirrely Tale

Ponder a squirrel who is

Eager to be a bird, thus

Tempted to give up a part of himself

Enough to accept a dragonfly’s magic while

Yearning to be like his best bird friends.

[image error]

P E T E Y, ©illustration by Shelly Steinle

Watching their joyous freedom in the

Air as they swoop and sing, Petey is

Nudged to be like them.

This compels him, as many of us at times, to

Sacrifice part of himself, to be something else.

Petey W A N T S a wish. ©Illustration...

A Timely Ghost Story that Matters

“Hold on to your hat, Stephen,” Harriet warns. “You’re about to discover how little you know.” https://roughwighting.net/2024/07/19/a-humdinger-of-a-ghost-story/

In an irritated, and yes, arrogant tone, Stephen responds, “I know you’ve created drama where there is none. My mom, your supposed best friend, was extremely successful. She was a famous literary novelist. I think you rode on her coattails and now that mom is dead, you want to ride some more. You want to write her books, make mon...

A Humdinger of a Ghost Story

“Why don’t you and I work together – starting with your mom’s first three chapters – and write the ghost’s story,” Harriet suggests. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a humdinger.”  https://roughwighting.net/2024/07/05/ghost-writer/ 

“A what?” Stephen asks. As a 36-year-old investment analyst with an appetite for math but none for words, he has no idea what his mom’s best friend is talking about. But she’s old, at least 60, so that’s par for the course.

Harriet rolls her eyes. “A ...

Ghost Writer

“It’s haunted, you know,” Stephen says as soon as the attorney, Mr. Richardson, reads his mother’s will.

“I know,” Harriet answers a bit smugly.

Stephen startles, opens his mouth as if to say something, closes it as if thinking better, then spits it out anyway: “That’s the only reason mother would leave the Berkshire cabin to you. It’s old, it’s unheated, and it’s been haunted for 100 years.” Stephen stands up, tight jeans hugging his hips, tight smile hugging his clenched teeth.

...

Summer Zen

My Summer Zen story began as a prompt to my creative writing students: “Write a story that includes the line: ‘I wish I could stay here forever.’ Each writer sunk into the memory of a ‘perfect’ day. But as I wrote my story, I realized that we all could find a perfect moment in every day. 

Oh, and the header photo happened this past week – eight little turkey babies (poults) on our deck railing. I think Turkey Mama was having a perfect moment.

As lavender dusk approaches, walk me into the ...

I flew in a bathtub last night …

I’d never flown by tub before. Usually, I take off on my own. Well, almost on my own.

The first time I realized I had this capability was when I was 3 years old. I woke up in the middle of a full-moon night and saw a flickering being fluttering above me. Immediately I knew her – my little angel.

I called her Sweetie.

“Come on up,” Sweetie suggested, and I did. What fun! We flew from ceiling corner to ceiling corner. The window was open because it was a warm summer night, so after...

Fifteen Minutes

Why I turned on the TV at 9:30 this morning I don’t know. I never watch daytime shows, but the rain is coming down in a Biblical way. The sound of it beating on top of my roof and against the windows makes me lonely. And not a little frightened.

At 52 years of age, I, Rachel C. Simpson, have seen my share of scary days – joblessness, friends who leave, divorce, relatives who die – that’s the real scary stuff, but for some reason this unrelenting rain has given me a sense of doom.

...

The Treasure

My grandmother, Nanny, died when I was 5, but I loved her with all my young heart. Even as a kindergartener, I could tell she was a gentle, kind, sweet, loving soul.

Since she died, I’ve talked to her in my head every so often, but she’s never visited me in my dreams. So, imagine my surprise when I wake up from a dream at four this morning with Nanny speaking urgently to me: “It’s behind the backyard at 525 Cramston. Go!” 

“What’s buried?” I ask in my dream state.

“It’s ti...

Clearing the Cobwebs

“What do you think it is?” my brother Jack asks. He’s in the middle of a 4-mile run even though he’s 68, his knees ache, and he biked 20 miles the day before with friends a decade younger.

I shrug, then take his question seriously. After all, I drove seven hours to visit my brother and his wife, and after perfunctory hellos, Jack takes off for a run and I begin a three-mile walk. Jack and I bump into each other a mile from his home; he pants while he asks the question.

“You mean,...