Flash Fiction Friday: The Correspondence That Catches You

Hello readers, Writers, and Friends,

I hope you are looking forward to the weekend. And that it will feel like a weekend. I am looking forward to getting all the Christmas things going. I have goodies to make. So many goodies. I mean, when you have two weeks of mandatory recovery, that you extend into four weeks of mandatory recovery with your own silliness (read: believing you are invincible and the rules don’t apply to you) you have a lot of time to look at Pinterest. And looking at Pinterest makes you think, “I could make that low carb.” And thinking you make something low carb makes you want to get into the kitchen and start testing recipes you can sneak past your family as treats without them being the wiser.

It’s really like that whole, “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” thing.

But I still have to take things slow.

So. Slow.

This is a great time of year for that. *Sarcasm*

And yet, the contradictory reality is that it is. The waning of the year, the focus on Jesus Christ, are both perfect opportunities for reflection on ourselves, our habits, our faith, our families. So I am taking really deep breaths and reframing putting the brakes on everything (and allowing my man-handed husband to help wrap presents). This time to slow down, to direct my kiddos in the kitchen as they learn to make things themselves, to ask for help more are blessings. Little gifts that come along with taking the time to heal.

And now, enough of my prattle.

Let’s write some flash fiction!!

Today’s prompts are: flood, person with a secret bad habit

My husband is trying to speed my recovery with rose hips and pink roses. I just love the bright red, so festive.

The digital age didn’t have the impact on me that had on many others. Call me a bit a of a Luddite I suppose. I mean, I have a computer, I know how t ouse it. I know what to point and click on and to never read the comments section. I get all that.

But it wasn’t the same.

Even the efforts to digitize my personal vice fell flat.

So i kept at it.

Buying stamps in bulk, because you never knew when you’d need to send something off. Being recognized at the local craft store because you are the only one still buying stationary.

And it’s not like I had any evidence that it had ever worked. Every time I sealed an envelope I did it with the hope that this time. This time something would come back to me.

And I don’t know how many times I told myself, “It’s a lie. It never works. Whether it’s five or ten or twenty send outs, it doesn’t pay off in the end.”

So when I came walking up the street to see my diminutive land lady glaring fiercely front he front step, I had no reason to think it was something I’d done.

I went through the obvious checklist in my head: rent late -no, loud music- no, animals loose or smelly-I only owned a houseplant.

and she didn’t say anything as I approached so i thought she just be after Mr. Wellinsmeyer again for cooking fish multiple days in a row. But then i stepped into the foyer.

It was flooded.

Every surface was covered with letters. My letters. The chain letters I had been sending out with love and affection for years and years had been quietly multiplying out in the world and here was the proof scattered across the entrance of my apartment building. Mailbags full sat propped in corners, their contents spilling over in a cascade of white envelopes. My tiny inner environmentalist said, “So many trees!” but it was too wonderful for any mixed emotions.

“Just what are you planning to do about all this?” my land lady asked.

I picked up the nearest letter, return address in Sturgis, South Dakota.

I have to write back!” I ran up the stairs and got to work.

It is rather brief, but that’s the point. I hope you enjoyed it. Perhaps it will inspire you to send a few hand written cards this year.



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