Category Archives: aging

Me and Ballet, A Thing of Beauty

When I was 33 and lived in St. Louis, I got it in my mind that I wanted to take a ballet class. I found one at Forest Park Community College. Wearing pink tights and a leotard for the first time in 24 years, I was relieved to find the class full of housewives – women who wanted just one hour a week to get out of the house, move to pristine music and maybe, just maybe, feel beautiful.

About fifteen minutes into the first class a bodacious black woman stepped away from the barre, pointed at the instructor and said “Now you listen here, sister. I have no intention of becoming a prima ballerina.” The studio was silent for a tense moment until, I kid you not, the Asian lady at the end of the barre farted. She farted. Well, that pretty much sealed the deal. There would be no prima ballerinas at FPCC.


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Filed under aging, autobigraphy, body image, dance, flash fiction, humor, sarcasm, Uncategorized, women, writing

it’s just popcorn, nothing else

As I walk out the front door of Target, I smell popcorn (What is this, a movie theatre? It’s annoying). In front of me, impeding my egress, is an old man pushing his cart with his hip because his hands are busy holding onto and digging into a bag of popcorn.

The door flies open, the wind catches his bag and popcorn cascades behind him as he makes his way across the parking lot (What is this, a ticker tape parade? It’s beautiful).



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Filed under aging, flash fiction, humor, Uncategorized, writing

Coffee. Why it sucks.

Historical Note:  This story refers to a time BAS (before the advent of Starbucks)

The Coffee Age

All I ever wanted was a cup of coffee
with two lumps of sugar
and enough cream to make it a warm, tawny shade of brown

That was college
Coffee was easy:
Cereal and coffee for breakfast,
Grilled cheese and coffee for lunch,
Ice cream and coffee for dinner.

Now I’m 45
Coffee is hard:
Caffeine makes me shake,
I’m hypoglycemic,
and lactose intolerant.

All I want now is a cup of decaf,
with two packs of the pink stuff,
and enough non-dairy powder to make it a swirling, sickly shade of grey

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Filed under aging, autobigraphy, coffee, flash fiction, humor, sarcasm, Uncategorized, writing