Opal (fiction)

Day one hundred and forty-six opens with the sun peaking through the blinds, snow falling lightly, 

landing upon the outstretched branches weaving in the growing winds.  The forecast calls for more snow, adding a substantial amount to the snow already on the ground.  

Opal sat stewing over her peppermint tea, which, according to Ida, is the only tea suitable for this weather.  "Peppermint is a pondering tea, and this, my dear, is pondering weather." Opal could hear Ida's voice as if she were sitting across the table this blustery morning.   

The small things, getting up, getting dressed, and steeping tea, are accomplished daily.  However, not much else. Opal sits at the weathered kitchen table, churning the events that led to Ida walking out the kitchen door, over in her mind. 

Day one hundred and forty-six hasn't diminished the sounds of the frozen ground crunching beneath Ida's boots, the Jeep Wrangler's revving engine as Ida makes her way down the path leading to the county road.  The souped-up truck can be heard even as it creeps further and further out of Opal's view.  

Out of Opal's life.  What word or words turned the disagreement into a departure?  Were the events of that evening premeditated or pre-ordained?   

As Opal sat, peppermint tea cooling as time elapsed, the questions roiled around, over and over, with no resolution in sight.  Soon, though, the contractors will be making their way up the path, set to begin the work contracted over two hundred days ago.  

Soon, Opal will be charged with answering new questions, making innumerable decisions; primary among them, what comes next? 

01/11/2026 Middle Girl 

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The beginning sat in drafts for many months, changing shape and focus many times over that time, only recently taking this (not quite "final"?) shape.  This version was motivated, inspired, and driven by a quote attributed to Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye: "Lonely is much better than alone."  I sit with the concepts, conditions, alone and lonely. 

Welcome to Sunday, January 11, 2026.  

  

 

  

Hold On

 

Part of my work entails making calls to insurance companies.  More often than not, hold times are part of the equation.  Astronomical hold times.  Because of that factor I usually make calls when there are other tasks that may be accomplished while on hold; updating notes in charts, faxing claims,  entering new claim charges, or posting payments.  

Now and again, I'm caught up on other tasks and hold times are spent pondering. 

For instance: 

This pandemic: how much longer? What shall be the short and long-term impact to our cities, states, the country? 

The election: can we trust the process? Will BLUE make a valiant effort and still come up short? What then? If BLUE wins may we expect RED to react horribly? 

Civil War - the Sequel? 

Sometimes the pondering is a little less intense. 

For instance: 

Are there enough leftovers for a decent lunch (or dinner)? 

Is my body beginning to reject dairy? 

What shall I do about Inktober? 

Some drama popped off in a FB Inktober group due to allegations of copyright infringement and plagiarism.  I am sure I've solved the dilemma that caused my unease.  Still, the events, commentary have left a sour note. 

Will live theater return? If so, when? What will that look like? If not, what then? 

How much longer will I be on hold and what the heck is the music? 

Welcome to September. Heck, in a minute it'll be October.  O C T O B E R!! The tenth month! 

WOW