Unless you're sleeping in a Haunted Hotel. Then, what you heard matters. A lot.
Before I visited The Ghosts of Andras Past, I thought it would be fun to visit some other ghosts. More general. Not connected to me exactly.
But, I never realized I had booked poor MTM and me into the Poltergeist Hotel.
There’s something about the Mystery Hole. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
My Internet is likely to be spotty to non-existent until Tuesday. Please be patient as I try to get to your stories.
In the meantime, I found the Mystery Hole. I have two t-shirts to give to worthy readers to prove it. Comment to be eligible to win.
One of the things I have always admired about my mother is her fierce connection to her sisters. She has three. Fiery and fierce. Generous and hilarious. When they are together, Time stops. The cares of the World fade. They revel in each other.
The home of their youth is gone. Their mother is dead. Their hometown has morphed into a strange place , where almost no one knows them anymore.
My Mamaw died a Fighter, sharp edges and ragged claws intact.
It takes a fighting spirit to stare down Death. To dodge the clutch of bony fingers. The strength of the Fighter is easy to admire.
It's just as likely that Death eschews the spirit of the Fighter. Overblown personalities. Inflexible points of view. Dogged ideas about the World. Sometimes, I suppose, Death decides it's easier to let Life erode the Fighter's will.
When I was little, I stomped ocean waves. Tried to keep them with me. I looked over my shoulder at the churning mass and tried to imagine which water droplets I touched.
Would they remember me?
Time makes a mockery of Life. It ebbs and flows. Water and sand.