The Daily Dahlia
The first time Daddy ran for election, he lost. Mr. Floy Farr gave him few days to lick his wounds, then called Daddy up and told him to get dressed and go see about this one particular job opening. Daddy was hired in a management position at what was then Tyrone Rock Products Company, and I ‘spect the day he was hired is the day I became a lifelong rock hound. The rock quarry was located in Riverdale, so we’d occasionally stop by on our way home to see Daddy at work.
One night Daddy was unusually quiet at supper.
“Crawford,” Mother said, attempting to enkindle some supper table conversation one night after we’d stopped by for a visit on our way home from the Farmer’s Market. “I tell you, those men you work with are the nicest people. They just talked and talked and talked with me this afternoon when we stopped by. They shared with me so much, I like to have never got to leave.”
“I guess they did, Ada,” Daddy said, laying his fork down rather firmly and raising his eyes to meet hers square on. “You parked on the only scales at the quarry and shut the whole damn plant down.”
Life was just too much with me the past couple of days, but I’ll catch up and get myself back on track. To those who asked after me, thank you. It’s nice to be missed.
In Our Own Language 4:21
Still stitching Nancy’s drawings. Today, the 21st drawing in set 4.
But you knew that.
In case this is your first trip here,
I’m penning 100 stories in 100 days.
And, while they last,
I publish a dahlia a day.
I also stitch the drawings of
my developmentally disabled sister-in-love
Nancy every chance I get.
If you want to ride shotgun,
mash the black “right this way” button
in the orange bar at the top of the screen
and follow the directions.