Pamela Wight's Blog, page 6

Lucky Charm

[image error]David Young from Pixabay

" data-image-caption="" data-medium-file="https://roughwighting.files.wordpress..." data-large-file="https://roughwighting.files.wordpress..." class="alignleft wp-image-9845" src="https://roughwighting.files.wordpress..." alt="Image by David Young from Pixabay" width="144" height="216" srcset="https://roughwighting.files.wordpre...

“Telling” Time (4:44)

A year or so before my mom’s dementia took her mind away, she shocked me by stopping in front of my digital kitchen clock and proclaiming, “4:44 – that’s a great sign! Happiness, or good luck, or something like that.”

I gaped. My mom was a lifelong Episcopalian, attended church every Sunday, and took Bible study classes throughout her 70s and 80s, but she never displayed a spiritual side, or any side except what was straight in front of her.

“Really?” I finally asked, looking at th...

The Creature Inside and Out

“Stevie, I don’t have a creature inside me,” I insist. “In fact, there’s not much left to me at all,” I stare down at my decrepit body, hunched over from arthritis and age.

“That’s the point, Auntie!” Stevie exclaims. “The creature inside you is young. Vibrant. Viral.”

Readers: I’m Lucia, and my story began at the last post (https://roughwighting.net/2023/04/07/the-creature-within/)  explaining that my brilliant nephew Stevie is convincing me to take a pill he invented that will help me beco...

The Creature Within

I always liked Stevie as a kid. He was kooky, and so was I. But I was in my mid-40s when he was born.

By the time Stevie was a teen, his intellect was genius level, and his nerdiness disturbed his two straighter-than-an arrow parents, so they put him in an advanced program at MIT and crossed fingers he’d be accepted by the other odd souls that hovered in the halls of techno academia.

Me?  His Aunt Lucia? Soon after, at the age of 64 I moved to a small island off Maui and found a lo...

Brotherly Love

I call him, sucking in my breath and biting my tongue so I won’t cry.

He hates emotion.

But he loves me. I know that. As long as I don’t cry.

“Hay lo,” my brother the accountant answers. It’s noon; he’s inundated with reams of forms and numbers and stress; yet he answers my phone call.

A good sign.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, “that it’s taken all of these years for you to now realize that your sister is a dumb shit.”

At the beginning…

Without missing a beat, ...

The Parrot’s Promised Land

Two weeks ago, my neighbor Missy dropped off her parrot JOJO at my house and raced off to visit her ailing father in Florida.

At the time, JoJo, an ancient Psittacine, prophesized that Missy’s dad would die.

JoJo was right. (Parrot Plot Points)

JoJo was right about a lot of things, including the fact that Missy would return in 10 days, but only to gather some clothes, check on her winged Wise One, and to promise she’d “make it up to me” for parrot sitting the irascible, irresis...

Parrot’s Plot Points

“Pam, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ll take JoJo.” Missy said, appearing at my front door holding a large, covered birdcage with an elaborate gold handle at the top.

“Well, I don’t know much about parrots, but I’ve certainly heard a lot about JoJo. And, um, most of our friends warned me not to help you. I don’t understand why. You said JoJo is easy.”

Missy followed me into my home, stopping at the kitchen nook with wall-to-wall windows.

“Yes, yes, this is p...

In My Dresser Drawer

I’m a writer. And an author. A reluctantly published author. I’m disappointed with myself in that way. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d do it more. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d shout to the world that I love to write stores. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d share my stories far and wide.

Well, actually, I do share my stories from Vietnam to Germany, from Colorado to Vermont, from South Africa to England. On-line. On a blog. And doing so doesn’t cost me a penny. Well, it...

Staying Up

This is what I dislike about aging.

My days are shorter.

I don’t mean my life ahead is shorter, although of course it is. I try not to think about that, but now that you mention it, yikes, yes. Do I have 10 more years, possibly 15 more years before I’m totally decrepit?

Stop! Let’s go back to my complaint of when my days are shorter now that I’m in the grouping called “elderly.” Dear God, I’m not elderly. That won’t happen until I’m at that decrepit stage.

But in the...

A Walk in the Woods, Book by Book

Deena enjoys her Still Life. Her daily habit includes long walks in the woods behind her house, even in the Dead of Winter. She communicates with the owls and hawks and Other Birds. At times, Deena has a Bone Hunger to join these creatures, discarding The Body while flying with lightness and ease.

“But,” she chuckles as she whistles a reply to the nearby Blue Jay, “I’d Write My Name Across the Sky in bold bird scrawl.”

Deena’s few friends think she lives in Cloud Cuckoo Land,...