“Mommy, do grown-ups have dreams while they sleep?”
“Yes, Trina. Why do you ask?”
“It’s ’cause I had this dream last night. It woke me up.”
“What was it about?”
“I can’t ‘scribe it. So much light. Like a giant bulb, only it made my room all red.”
“Did it scare you, Trina?”
“N-n-no, not really. It was pretty, and warm, and it felt safe, not scary. Mommy, what made the light red?”
“What do you think, Honey”
“Dunno. It felt good, like a big red Valentine’s heart.”
“Then that’s what it was.”
(You may remember that last week I mentioned my “like” button, along with my notification bell, was not working. I couldn’t “like” any of your stories. I got into an online forum offered by Word Press, and FINALLY, after following many suggestions, someone asked if my third-party cookies setting was disabled. Yes, it was. I had disabled it, because I get sick of clickbait from places in which I have no interest. So I enabled all cookies, and VOILA! “Like” is working. Notification bell is working. If you use Chrome and you’re having similar issues, check your settings for cookies. It was an easy fix, once I knew how to do it.)
And now for my story:
“Oh, now that’s just going too far,” whined Bella. “Garlic in every window, every door? They KNOW they have to invite us in. This is just offensive.”
“Stop whining!” barked Bariel. “We’ll wait. Just make sure you stay in the cover of the woods in case the sun takes us by surprise.”
“I’m staying right here by the door,” insisted Bella. There’s shade from the overhang. I’m going to catch someone by sur—–AAAAGGGgggggghhhh!!”
The holy water hit her full in the face, leaving only dust.
Bariel grunted. “Know-it-all newbies.”
“Seems a lot of people are cleaning house since the Covid thing came along.”
“Yup. If you’re going to stay home, you might as well do something you’ve been putting off for years!”
“You ever consider if people in third-world countries would think our junk is a treasure?”
“You ever consider that some of it could be donated, fixed up, and given to our own needy folks?”
“Good point. I’ve got stuff. You got any stuff?”
“Yup.”
The two neighbors spent the rest of their walk making plans.
Walking into the shop was like entering a magic room. I’d never seen such a wonderful collection of indescribable trinkets, jewelry, novelties.
“Where does it all come from?” I asked the proprietor.
“Here ‘n’ there.”
“It is all so lovely. All handmade?”
“Yup.”
“Those halloween skulls are intriguing. . . “
Silence.
“Are they sold individually, or together?”
“All ‘er none.”
“You don’t talk much.”
Silence.
“Will you bargain with me?”
“Nope.”
“How do you ever sell anything?”
Silence.
Irritated, I decided to leave. The door was locked. I glanced back at him. Cold-eyed, he said, “No sale, no exit. Your choice.”
“Blasted new-fangled contraptions! Stinking, noisy, clogging the streets and creating chaos! If God had intend–“
“Granddad, come on! You sound like all the old fogies sitting in the pub complaining about how things have changed since ‘their day.’ Can’t you think of anything good that has happened?”
“Nope! Not a gol-dang thing! In MY day, youngsters didn’t disrespect their elders!”
“No? Huh. Seems I remember some stories. . .”
“Bah! Nonsense. None of it true!”
“Well, that’s a shame. It seems to me you had a lot of fun. Are you saying you’ve always been a grouch?”
“Hmmph!”
Just Writing! 