Roberta Wax

It was one of those days. The dog had eaten the meat that was defrosting for dinner, my daughter was moaning about her homework, my son wanted to skateboard in the hall and the dry cleaner gave me someone’s toreador pants instead of my husband’s suit. I needed to vent and I had two choices – my husband or a girlfriend. She won. (Why we need women friends, and how different friends fit different needs.)

“Friends for All Seasons”

Word count: 853

Perhaps I should have felt angrier at my son for lying to me about where he was, but after the initial hot, mad flush of temper that made me want to scream “I’m-going-to-throttle-you-how-could-you-do-this-to-me,” I felt suddenly, unexpectedly calm. (Teens need to rebel a bit, but there is a kind of sweet relief when they mess up and you can ground them.)

“A Little Rebellion Not Always Bad”

Word count: 650

My eyeglasses, with their copper-colored oval frame and lenses that thicken at the edges like the bottom of a Coke bottle, are more than an accessory. They are the first things I put on in the morning and the last things I remove at night. I place them just so on my bed stand, lens side up so they don’t get scratched, at the ready in case I need to leap out of bed at the first rumble of an earthquake. I’m paranoid about losing them or breaking them or even scratching them just enough to fracture my view of the world. (Sometimes, though, maybe the world is better when it’s softer around the edges.)

“I Can See Clearly Now”

Word count: 1,043

My personal phone book has seen better days. The blue cardboard cover is stained and torn, several pages are held together with tape, and there are Post-it notes and scribbles everywhere. It traveled well from high school to college and far into adulthood. But it is time to retire the poor thing and start anew. (Looking through my phone book is a trip down memory lane.)

“Personal Phone Book Tells Tales”

Word count: 825

I’ve never been one for household chores. I hate vacuuming, dislike dusting and abhor washing floors and cleaning toilets. But doing laundry I can get into. There is something Zen-like about laundry chores. There is a fine ballet in the laundry steps: swooping up the dirty clothes, tossing them gracefully into the maw of the machine, swirling in detergents that will clean and fabric softener that will, well, soften. The clean smell of a load well done soothes the senses.

“The Zen of Laundry”

Word count: 943

I love my mailman. Let me the count the ways. Daryl is strong. He’s reliable. He delivers. Who doesn’t love a man who shows up every day, six days a week, through rain, sleet, snow and the Book-of-the-Month club? (Humorous look at working at home and the thrill of getting mail, a thread of connection to the outside world.)

“My Postman Really Delivers”

Word count: 575