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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 10, Number 1, March 2016

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Terri L. French
Huntsville, Alabama, USA


Out with the old

New Year’s Day. I watch the flap of Christmas cards taped to the doorway beneath the heating vent. Nineteen cards this year, a few less than last year, which was a few less than the year before that. I decided not to send cards this Christmas. Felt kinda bad about it. But it was just one more thing on a long list of things I felt I had to do. I guess other people are feeling the same way. Or, actually, other women are feeling the same way, since they are the ones who buy the cards and the stamps, spending an entire evening addressing them all, writing short personalized notes in some.

Tomorrow I will take down the tree, throw out the last of the Christmas cookies, and pull the cards off of the doorway. I will open and read each one, appreciate them, and then throw them all away. I’ll feel kinda bad about that.

New Year’s rain . . .
hoppin’ John stuck
to the bottom of the pot

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