Skipping Stones

I once skipped a stone 17 times across Lake Wawasee. It was one of those still days when the water is pure glass and you can see the clouds clearly reflected on the surface. We competed in hunting for the smoothest rocks all morning. I found one that was round and flat and just the right weight so I saved it until last. No one else got more than 11 and I was proclaimed the rock-skipping champion of Indiana.

I've never skipped a stone since. I'm satisfied knowing I once achieved a moment of perfection that can never be matched.

Small Mercies

Her father had come out a year before he died. Her parents had been divorced more than a decade by then and the news probably shouldn't have comes as such a shock. At the eulogy, she lamented not handling his announcement with more compassion. She would never be able to understand what it had been like for him, growing up in small town Indiana.

She left the election viewing party early. She needed to cry alone. It was the first time she was glad Dad had died. He was spared having to see the wheels of progress start rolling backwards.