|
April Grace Has A Change Of Heart |
|
|
 A short story by
Kathaleen McCrite
My grandma has a boyfriend, and he gets on my nerves big time. He's loud and corny, and it seems like he's always at her house. She cooks for him, makes his special favorites, laughs at his dumb jokes – and believe me, he has a lot of dumb jokes.
Worst of all, she gets all dolled up for him, wearing her church clothes for every day. Grandma and I hardly ever have any alone-time since Mr. Rance came into our lives.
“Doesn't Mr. Rance about drive you buggy and bust your eardrums with his big mouth?” I asked her after the old man excused himself from our table at the Koffee Kup to make a phone call.
All dreamy-eyed, she watched him walk away.
“I don't think he knows how loud he is,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “All that talk, talk, talk. He never stops! Doesn't he drive you buggy?”
I bit into my bacon cheeseburger, which is my favorite thing to eat at the Koffee Kup, and happily munched on it while Grandma tore open a little blue packet of sweetener and stirred it into her coffee. She stirred for a long time then finally looked at me with a little frown…
|
|
Click to continue...
|
|
|
Hijab Girls (And More) By Cory Eldridge |
|
|
Susan notes: this beautiful piece by Cory Eldridge found me in a roundabout way. Someone had posted a link to another story by Eldridge on a blog that I follow.
After I savoured the short essay, which I can only describe as one of the best pieces of writing about expat workers that I have ever read, I scrolled down to find the one below about two young Muslim girls in an American schoolyard. It's also beautiful. And particularly touching given the recent stabbing murder of Marwa Sherbini, 31, an Egyptian woman living in Germany.
Click here to read Cory Eldridge's stunningly well-written article about his experience living as an American expat intern reporter, with a group of Asian expat workers, in close quarters, in Sharjah, UAE. It's an outstanding piece of journalistic writing. Click here to go to his blog.
Hijab Girls
If you were to guess which two of these things were not like the others things, which two of these things don’t belong during recess at Glencoe Elementary you would pick these two girls. Because you saw that unlike the others they wear headscarves, bright flower-covered hijabs,
with matching straight-waist dresses.
Unlike the others, you saw this,
their skin is dark. Black, yes, but not African-American, not
chocolate, no slavery here. Their skin glows mahogany, even more
beautiful because only their almond faces and their tiny hands show.
But you know that’s not what makes them not the same. That’s only the
outside. They’re not like the others because they walk alone, together.
And melancholy follows.
They always walk alone, together. Hand
holds little hand while the other kids yell and run and chase, going
this way then twirling and going that way. They walk straight, not in
lockstep but in rhythm. Those are the eye-catching children on a
schoolyard: the still ones, the deliberate ones, the un-childlike. The ones by themselves. They seem like little adults or dreamers, but mostly they seem overcome by melancholy.
I
see them maybe once a week as I run pass the school during my first
mile, and they hold their heads close, sharing secrets and stories, as
they walk alone, together. I’ve
decided they are Somalis, the daughters of refugees floating in a city
far from their embattled home, waiting to go back, dressing their
children as they will when they return, watching their melancholy
become their children’s as the news comes in and, again, it’s bad.
|
|
|
The Daffodil Principle |
|
|
Susan notes: This story is frequently attributed to Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards I have tried (unsuccessfully), to verify its truth, but have been unable to confirm via any of the internet myth
sites. I’ve also followed the thread of authorship, and sent emails to
people who claim to have known the author or seen the “garden,” but so
far have not received a reply. If anyone has proof that this story is
fact and not fiction, I would be happy to have the information.
|
|
Click to continue...
|
|
|
Walking Beneath a Weight |
|
|
Susan notes: excerpted from Walking Beneath a Weight, a column by Pakistani writer and author Bina Shah, which first appeared at Dawn.com in March 2009.
Recently I found a poem (first published in 1963), by the poet and academic Jon Stallworthy, who is professor emeritus of English literature at Oxford University:
Sindhi Woman
 Barefoot through the bazaar,
and with the same undulant grace
as the cloth blown back from her face,
she glides with a stone jar
high on her head
and not a ripple in her tread.
Watching her cross erect
stones, garbage, excrement, and crumbs
of glass in the Karachi slums,
I, with my stoop, reflect
they stand most straight
who learn to walk beneath a weight.
By Jon Stallworthy
I was quite surprised that a New Zealander who is the author of several volumes of poetry and books about poetry and famous poets could produce something relevant to our corner of the world. But the poem is incredibly evocative of the stereotypical image of the Sindhi woman.
|
|
Click to continue...
|
|
|
Little Old Lady |
|
|
Susan’s note: Kennon Cooke and my Mom are great friends – golfing buddies in summer, luncheon companions during the winter. Besides being a wonderful friend, Kennon is a skilled photographer and travel writer. When she told me recently that she has a binder full of unpublished short stories, I couldn’t resist asking her to share one or two on AWR. When she agreed, I was thrilled.
The beautifully written story below is simple, yet insightful and moving – a gentle reminder of the way the elderly in particular suffer from financial constraints. Although Kennon wrote it some time ago, this story is especially relevant during the troubled times in which we now find ourselves.
Little Old Lady
by Kennon Cooke
Ida Wallace stood at the bank counter watching the teller count out the
money. It was the same young woman who had waited on her the previous
week, and Ida liked her ready smile and pleasant manner.
'Just a slip
of a girl', mused Ida, 'They're getting younger every year. My
goodness, I do hope they know what they're doing.'
|
|
Click to continue...
|
|
|
AWR launched two years ago. To keep it subscription-free, I need to migrate the site to a new platform that will more easily allow advertising. I don't have the funds to do it alone, so I'm inviting visitors and fans to invest in the future of AWR with me. If AWR inspires you, please make a donation to take it to the next level. Even $5 - $10 will help. Thanks for your support, Susan
