Is it who you know?_My Inheritance_One Friday Unlike the Others_Interrupt
Catalog Guide:
Is it who you know?
I can tell you this. In my small town, the old adage ‘It is not what you know, but who you know that matters” certainly applies. And I would add to that “It’s not what you submit to local writing and art contests, but who you are related to that matters.” Regarding the latter, I think that Maggie Cutler submitted something from her daughter’s finger painting session in kindergarten in her winning entry this year. Mayor Cutler, one of the judges, must have liked her granddaughter’s artwork a lot, or at least liked her. Now, I am no artist, but I do feel that I have some ability as a w...
My Inheritance
Looking back on that winter afternoon, it seemed like a scene straight out of a story. I heard the ping on my laptop and paused the Netflix movie I was watching to check my mail. It was from an unknown sender. Though I never open mail from unknown people something prompted me to open this. Boy! Was I in for a surprise! From: Navroz Patel, Longwood Shola, Kotagiri, The Nilgiris Madam. It is with deep regret we inform you about the death of your uncle Jasper Jeevaratnam. It was his wish that you, being the sole surviving member of his family, should be informed of his demise. He has furnished u...
One Friday Unlike the Others
It is late Friday afternoon, 4:56 or 16:56 to be precise. It is almost what my co-workers call ‘quitting time’. They are beginning to talk about subjects that are not work-related. There is smiling and laughter. I can tell that they are making plans as to where they are soon going to go to eat, drink, and, as one co-worker puts it “be merry.” They will not include me in their conversations along these lines. Nor will they even think of inviting me to come along. As in the past, no one will say, “Hey Andrew, why don’t you come along with us? We would like to have you be part of our Friday nig...
Interrupt
Sadie flipped her dark ponytail over her shoulder as she tipped an open bag of wwww.onedoor.cchole coffee beans over a paper filter on a scale. She tilted the bag back up intuitively, without watching, as the number on the scale ticked upward until the display read precisely 0.220. Her fingers flitted to the white tags to mark the date of the prepped beans. She wrote the date, placed the tag, then grabbed one of the filters, pouring it into the grinder. Sadie raised her voice over the hollow ting-and-shir of the beans hitting the burrs, “You know what they don’t tell you on that little white placard with th...