Anecdote Love

Stories and Musings from a girl named Harvey


Green Eyed Blizzard


Green Eyed Blizzard

Contemplation as defined by Merriam Webster: the act of thinking deeply about something; the act of looking carefully at something

“Why did you bring me up here Joel?”  Sara asked, staring at the large wet snowflakes casually drifting down on the blanketed hill.

“I came sledding here a lot when I was a kid. See that large oak over there?”  Joel pointed vaguely west, but in the snow chocked air the tree was a ghost.  “We’d start at the base of that oak then we’d jump on the sleds on our stomachs, tear down the hill towards that boulder, and use it as ramp.”

“Sounds terrifying.” Sara shivered and her hazel eyes grew large.

“Not when you’re five.” Joel shrugged and took a sip of beer. “I don’t know if the boulder is there anymore, they cleaned the hill up awhile back to make it safer for the little kids.”

“I’ve never been sledding” Sara stated, lying back on the hood of the blue Acura so she could stare at the purple sky.

“Never?” Joel glanced at her and gulped.  Under the knit hat her long black curls formed a snow dotted aura on the hood and her hazel eyes seemed to him as vague in their outer appearance as the oak thru the gusting snow.

“I grew up in Florida with the Rv’ers and Disney Princesses.  Why is it lighter when it snows?  It’s 12am and I can see so much.” Sara tilted her head towards Joel.

“I don’t know.  It’s always like this.  Once or twice I’ve been able to see the Aurora Borealis up here.   But that was ages ago.”  He fidgeted with his bottle and looked the other way towards the glittering lights of the small Michigan town.

“Why are you so strange tonight?  I thought you were happy to be here again, see your family, show me your childhood haunts?”

“I was, but then we got stuck in a blizzard.” Joel gave Sara his lop-sided grin and she smiled gently back at him.

“Personally I’m ok with missing a few more days of work.  Not like I really want to go back.  Did I tell you that Mr. Dawson has been pestering the hell out of me?  He gives me more work than the other paralegals.” Sara sighed.

“Yeah you told me.  Maybe you should be the lawyer, you’d be better at it.” Joel brought one knee up to his chest and leaned back on his elbows.

They sat like this for a time staring at the snow.  The silence of the wind muffling the sounds of the valley.  The flakes started getting larger and buffeting in tornadoes of flashing white.  The visible tree limbs tinkled as their ice encrusted branches rocked in the gusts.  The banks of snow on the hill, in places five feet high, began kicking up shimmering mists of flakes against the purple night.

“This hill. . .” Joel started.

“What about it?” Sara looked at him intently.

“Well. . .this hill. . .this hill is where I lost Heather.” Joel swept an arm across the hill.

“Joel.” Sara said softly.  “I didn’t know, I thought you hadn’t been back here since you were a kid.”

“I was a kid for a long time.” Joel looked intently at his beer.  “Heather and I decided to move back.  We both grew up here, our families are here, we thought it would be a good place to raise a kid, you know.  Expect. . .expect it didn’t work out.”

“What happened?” Sara probed, her voice soft.

“We came up here for a walk, on a summer night.  It started raining and a bolt of lightning hit near the oak.  It scared our dog Jackson and he took off running towards the forest.” Joel took a deep breath.

“Heather ran after him and I ran after Heather. . .Heather ran marathons; did I ever tell you that?. . .Well she could run faster than me and I. . .I lost them.  I kept running and running but no matter how far I ran I couldn’t find them.  I got lost. . . and they had to send out a rescue party for me. . .Jackson turned up at the house a few days later.”

“And Heather?” asked Sara.

“They. . .I. . .never found Heather.” Joel continued looking down at his beer and Sara placed her sliver gloved hand on his black gloved hand.

Again they sat in silence on the hood with the snow drifting lazily between them.

After some time Joel turned his head to Sara and said softly: “I love you Sara.”

Sara sat blot upright.  “Joel it’s only been a few months and for that matter it’s not been that long since, since you lost Heather.”

“I know, but I love you.  I don’t need time to tell me that; time is a mirage like the snow. . .and Heather.  She was all fun and confidence and speed, a drug with no real substance.  When she left I realized I didn’t know her.  I didn’t know her favorite color, how she liked her eggs, I didn’t know what books she read as a kid, or if she’d had an imaginary friend.  She was all about her job and what happened next.  But you Sara. . .you. . .you are present. ”

Sara looked down at the snow on the hood and began drawing circles with her finger.   “I don’t know if I love you.”

“That’s ok.  I don’t expect you too. I just wanted you to know.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here Joel?” Sara looked at him again.

“Yes and no.  I mean this hill, it’s magical. It’s the only place I’ve been that’s as magical as you.”

He reached down and kissed her soft pink lips and slowly they fell back onto the hood while the snow continued to dance in the night.

Written for Weekly Writing Challenge: 1000 words based on contemplation photo by  Cheri Lucas Rowlands.

Song Title Inspiration:

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The Garage – A Mystery Part 3


In Part 1 we learned that the Blake’s don’t park in their garage and we heard Peter’s bear theory.  Yesterday in Part 2 Tom expounded his ghost theory which was quickly rebutted by Sara.  And now the conclusion.

The Garage – A Mystery Part 3

“I think they keep a stuffed shark in a tank of formaldehyde in there a la Damien Hirst.” Sara said.

“A what, a la whom?” Joel stared at Sara blankly.

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The Garage – A Mystery Part 2


In Part 1 we learned that the Blake’s don’t park in their garage and Peter expounded his bear theory.  And now we continue with Tom . . .

The Garage – A Mystery Part 2

“I think it’s a ghost” Tom said.

“Why?” said Peter quickly.

“Well I was here back then too you know Peter.  We being the first family’s to move in here.  Then came Barbara and Ellen, quite the scandal back then. They were the first and last Lesbian bear hunters on the block.” 

“I spent a lot of time with them, nice gals they were.  Very well educated, liked cigars, their hobby was genealogical research.” Tom accepted a new drink from Sara and then continued.

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The Garage – A Mystery Part 1

This story is inspired by my former writing prof Mark Jabbour and his astute observations on neighbors.  We begin at the beginning.


The Garage- A Mystery Part 1

They were on round two of Sara’s lemon drop martinis, that everyone secretly hated, when Robert asked “So what’s the neighborhood like?”

“Well” said Sara turning her blue eyes to him, “This is most of us on the cul-de-sac.  Tom and Laura live next door to us on the right.  Peter lives next door to them at the top of the circle.  I would tell you all the gossip on his new model girlfriend, but he’s here.” Sara winked at Peter.

“Sara you’re forgetting the Blake’s” said Peter.

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Not An Italian Leather Sofa


This flash piece was written for, wait for it, both the Daily Prompt:Blogger of Repute and Zero to Hero.  Please note there is a spattering of cusswords so if that’s not your thing this post is not for you.  Enjoy!

Not An Italian Leather Sofa

Reputation defined by Merriam Webster: the common opinion that people have about someone or something: the way in which people think of someone or something.

The smell of Kona coffee brewing at 6am was intoxicating. Joel was standing in the kitchen swaying back and forth to the scent in nothing but his red boxer briefs.  In his mind he was standing on the beach in Maui with Sara watching the sunset, the sound of waves lapping and palms swaying in the breeze.

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C is for Caducity


This story was written for the DP Weekly Writing Challenge: Collecting Detail.  The challenge was to observe three things during the week and tie them into one cohesive piece.  The three observations I used to inspire this story are my husband eating a churro at a hockey game, taxidermy ducks on display at the philly cheese steak place I frequent, and a video on how ducks mate.  Yeah I know it sounds like the taxidermy ducks are a bit far fetched, but no joke they were real! 

C is for Caducity

 Caducity as defined by Merriam Webster: the quality of being transitory or perishable

“I’m here!”  Sara was unsure if the exclamation mark was too much.  Was Joel excitable like that?

Her phone vibrated: “I’m here too.  Just sat down.”

Sara got out of her gray Acura and examined the strip mall.  A strip mall was not what she’d been expecting.  “Los Palmas” blared at her from the red neon sign above a glass fronted entrance.  There was a piñata hanging in the doorway as she pushed the door open.

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N is for Nebulous


N is for Nebulous

Nebulous as defined by Merriam Webster: not clear, difficult to see, understand, describe, etc. . .

“Nebulous nebulous nebulously fabulous nebulous!” Joel proclaimed waving an empty whiskey glass at the TV. They were watching something about quantum somethings.  It was the only thing on that wasn’t reality TV or in French.  Normally he could sit and read or watch things about quantum things for hours, he had a feeling he might know quite a lot about it actually, , but right now he couldn’t figure out what the word after quantum was supposed to be or what it might actually mean.

“There isn’t a nebulous” Sara turned her petite oval head towards him, tucking her feet under her bum as she did so. “I think you’ve had enough don’t you?” Joel was pouring more Jack’s into his glass and managing to splash a good deal on the white duvet.

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V is for Vitroil


This story was written for the Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue.  It was inspired by a friends use of the word vitriol in a facebook post, which I considered elevating my facebook feed considerably.  I also hate grocery shopping, so there you go.

V is for Vitriol

Vitriol defined by Merriam Webster: something felt to resemble vitriol especially in caustic quality; especially :  virulence of feeling or of speech

“We can’t carry the eggs”
“They’re eggs.”
“Exactly, fragile.  They won’t make it five flights.”
Rick shot a glare at Meg and put the eggs back.
“You wanted vaulted ceilings” he muttered.

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S is for Sardonic (aka the Nudist Rock Band Story)


This installment of Alphabet Soup is inspired by the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward.  You can check it out here:      

Please be aware there’s a lot of cussing in this story.  If that’s not your thing this is not the story for you.


S is for Sardonic (aka the Nudist Rock Band Story)

Sardonic as defined by Merriam Webster: disdainfully or skeptically humorous : derisively mocking

So there she was by the Damen Blue Line stop, standing under her Louis Vuitton umbrella, in the rain, waiting for a cab.  Melrose decided to join her cokehead brother’s nudist rock band.  He said she had great tits.  A cab went by without stopping and splashed her Jimmy Choo’s.  Ruination.  It was the end of a not good day.

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She leaned back and peered over her book at Timothy.  He wore a red sweater with yellow chevrons under his tweed jacket.  He didn’t match.  In fact Timothy never matched.

He was the sort of person who always wore two different colored socks.  As if it was beyond his comprehension to put on two black socks with matching shoes.  Thistle softly smiled at his peculiar shoelaces.  He was wearing blue shoelaces with maroon aglets. His shoelaces had been the first thing she noticed that day he came into the agency.  The day her chest tightened and her breath stilled.

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