My Life in 50-Words
In June of 2021, I discovered 50-word stories and immediately started writing them. It is a unique challenge to present something meaningful in exactly 50 words (not counting the title). Condense everything. Delete excess verbiage. Every word has to earn its place. Concise. Succinct. Compact. That is the key.
These true vignettes are presented here in roughly chronological order as they occurred in my life — not the order in which I wrote them.
ENJOY!
Contents
First Tattoo, Age 4
Hit by a Pitch
Silverton, Colorado
"What Turtle?"
Her Solution
She Told Me Much Later
Hope I Don't
Death by Numbers
The Man Upstairs
Unexpected
CLOSED!
High School Reunion
Sesquipedalianism
First Tattoo, Age 4
(a true story)
Vividly,
I remember standing on the bathroom stool,
on tiptoe
stretching, craning,
to see the permanent blue dot on my nose
in the mirror.Laura,
angrily throwing crayons at me,
hadn't noticed
the colored pencil in the box,
the blue one that missed stabbing my eye
by 1/4 inch.
Hit by a Pitch
(a true story)
With a tinkling sound, Laura's lens skittered across the gravel.
Gingerly crawling... fruitlessly searching... we eventually went inside empty handed, knees bloodied.
I'll find it," Pop said, and inexplicably kept reading the paper.
After dark, he strolled out, flashlight in hand, returning moments later, the lost lens in the other.
Silverton, Colorado
(a true story)Our schoolbus camper dies in the Rockies, stranding us in this tourist trap town for 10 very long days.
Daily, at high noon, the Wild West Show starts.
Daily, we eagerly wait 17 minutes.
BLAM! BLAM!
Daily, the cowboy plummets from the Grange roof into the haywagon two stories below!
"What Turtle?"
(a true story)These two words completely sum up a delayed reaction in our family.
One day, watching the scenery go by from the boys' room in our bus camper, Ross said, "Look at that turtle!" We quickly looked.
Several miles later, still reading on his bunk, Lee suddenly said curiously, "What turtle?"
Her Solution
(a true story)Daily, the elderly woman strolls by, occasionally stooping down as she walks. One day, I befriend her, walking with her to the corner. "This is my solution," she says as she bends down to pick up the crumpled wrapper, adding it to the small trash bag in her other hand.
She Told Me Much Later
(a true story)My sister Laura was older, but I was taller. We loved our daily walk to school together, loudly singing the Pink Panther Theme song and marching in step with it all the way.
Much later, in her 50s, she admitted that it had been hard to keep up with me.
Hope I Don't
(a true story)My youngest brother, who was there at the time, said it went like this:
On his 90th birthday, Pop said with a lilt in his voice, "Always hoped I'd make it to 90."
[deep, throaty *sigh*]
[looooooong pause]
Then he very softly continued, "Hope I don't make it to 91."
Death by Numbers
(a true story)85.
100% of her joys gone:
Husband of 61 years died 7 months ago;
Her 8 children scattered, infighting;
Reading: 0;
Writing: 0;
Taste: 0;
Knows her mind is nearing 0.
1 morning, wakes and says, "I'm sick of this."
Just toast and tea until purposely dying 2 weeks later.
The Man Upstairs
(a true story)Jesse, who lives upstairs, is a Celtic harpist who also plays bagpipes, harvests clams for cash, doesn't talk much, is very friendly, wears orange shoes, keeps his beard in two thick braids on either side of his chin, and likes coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches in the middle of the night.
Unexpected
(a true story)We thought we hand 3 to 6 more years, not 3 to 6 more months. Last time was difficult, but this time was way harder. The crawlspace in the basement was not where we would have picked, but that was not our choice to make.
Goodbye, Whitney. Best. Cat. Ever.
CLOSED!
(a true story)At the top of the path, the sign still says, "CLOSED!" Major disappointment: no swimming. Again. Nine children, eleven teens, and dozens of adult campers will have to find something else to do this afternoon.
Art?
Crafts?
Book?
Horseshoes?
Volleyball?
Puzzle?
Talk?
Nap?Maybe we should set up the sprinkler.
High School Reunion
(a true story)Smiles, handshakes, laughter, hugs.
Where do you live now?
Working? Retired?
Hobbies? Health?
Spouse? Kids? Grandkids?All these happy people, so glad to see each other 50 years later: if their name tags didn't display their yearbook photo and name, I wouldn't have a clue who any of them are.
Sesquipedalianism
(true, but not a story)
Seemingly interminable, elaborately formulated, somewhat bewildering fabrication herewithin encompasses exceedingly protracted utterances, mirthfully, purposefully exemplifying consanguineous verbosity.
Perpetuating ineradicable, longstanding, patrilineal, logophilic propensities (previously conceptualized, consequentially realized) stimulates authorially pleasurable visceral sensations.
Furthermore, constructing thoroughly comprehensive, elongated phraseology, quintessentially denominates aforementioned wordsmith's unquestionably complicated, extraordinarily unrealistic, considerably longwinded, unapologetic grandiloquence.