Tag Archives: stories

#onceuponatime

Richie was out with his Mom. The chick that gave me the chick. Now I was alone with the little blue light special.

Home by myself, the dog asleep and the radio off, I turned to the corner of the kitchen for solace.

“Alexa, tell me a story.”

She did. She told me a short, sweet story.

It made me smile.

I tried for another.

The theme was cute but the ending predictable.

I was continuing to be a critic of hers but enjoyed being read to on a rainy day.

I’ve since learned the stories of: “Measure twice”, “The Hunt” and “Camp Blues”.

When Richie came home I told him about “The old man in the cottage” and “Making a snowball”.

Now Alexa had me narrating the accounts to Richie. He had left us alone together but we actually got along for once. Later tonight, I can even tell Richie “How to play pickle ball” – although I think I’ll edit it to my liking.

Everyone has a story. Alexa has a bookshelf. I gave her a hard wrap when we first met but maybe she, and Richie and I, are the fairytale.

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At Your Service

The Brimfield Flea Market is a magical place. I love the atmosphere, artistry, foods, oddities and wheeling and dealing with the vendors. I also enjoy swimming with the fishes and beating the dealers at their own game.

I was a small time seller long enough to know a few things: 

* Time is money:

– Don’t invest too much time when you’re buying. And buy low. Spend more of your time selling. And sell high.

– Flipping is the key, not storage fees. The less time between buying and selling adds to the bottom line. 

* Dealers have already made their money on other items in their auction lot or house buyout. What’s left are the items on their flea market table. Your spending, at this point in their layered selling, is almost all profit. 

* A good portion of a seller’s flea market inventory was obtained at no cost. Friends, relatives and neighbors unload their surplus on dealers they know or items are picked from piles on the side of the road.

* Sellers want you to give them a price first. Why say $50 if your buyer had $100 in mind?

* Dealers that do name a price are going high. They know how far they can come down – music to the buyers ear – and still make a profit.

I don’t know what the dealers cost was, the origin of their piece or who played a better game but one of my smaller deals went like this:

“$20.”

“Can you do $15?”

The response was a quick, “Sure.”

I took out my wallet that had a $10 and $20 bill. 

When I handed over Jackson, the dealer started patting his jean pockets, looked me in the eye and said, “I don’t have any change. My sister has it and isn’t here right now.”

Not missing a beat, I grabbed the Hamilton instead and said, “Okay but i can’t wait, so I ‘m thinking the price just went down to $10?”

“I guess it did. Looks like we’re paying you to move our inventory.”

I was glad to be of service. I loved the fall atmosphere, artistry of my piece and the bargaining agreement. My mermaid was magical.

Prologue

I was more restless than tired.

I went to bed to read but the story left me empty.

Soon he’ll ┬áturn in as well.

My anticipation is now replaced with writing.

But this is just an action that leads to another event.

I wait to be filled like words on a page.

“Ms Toy Whisperer”

Old Town Folk

I love spending time with the elders in this little town.

When you talk about the natives they have names like “Bones”, “Shorty”, “Fatty” , “Woody” and “Bubbles”.  We’ve referenced these names since we were kids and always had the most respect for them, their stories and their families.

The names didn’t have the intent or roots of bullying.  They just matched up with the nights, events or parts of their character, true character, that gave them their name.

Today I was talking with “Hammy” about one of the families I knew through my maternal grandmother.  When one of the daughter’s was mentioned, he said,

“She’s just like her grandmother.”

I couldn’t wait to hear, “Why?!””

“Because if she fell over…”

I finished the sentence in my head:

–  she’d get right back up.

– she’d never complain.

– she’d help someone else up before herself.

No.

None of the above.

“…she’d start rolling, all the way down the hill, just like her jolly round grandmother.”

So much for local folklore.