Tag Archives: Linda Claire Groshans short stories

Red Hood – a 1996 short fairy tale by Linda Claire Groshans

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My name is Red Hood. Okay, you probably remember me as Little Red Riding Hood, but that name is no longer fitting because I am now 42 years old.

I have recently completed years of therapy to help me cope with the traumatic childhood incident involving the so-called Big Bad Wolf—whose trickery nearly cost me my life. Those years of therapy, along with my husband’s understanding, have given me the strength I needed to speak publicly about how my life has turned out.

I’m sure you know my dreadful case. There are countless books printed about the nightmare event of my childhood. Sadly, I have made no money from any of these publications and have instead been 100 percent exploited. I find it deeply repulsive that illustrated children’s storybooks exist about this event. How horrifying is that? A lawyer is currently working on my behalf to rightfully secure some of the proceeds from the books and movies that monetized my trauma while leaving me to struggle financially.

Money is rather sparse these days, which is why I’ve agreed to write this article. At last, I will receive some financial compensation. I am also under contract for an upcoming docudrama, in which my husband will be featured as well.

I remain an object of curiosity. People always want to know what became of me. So let me offer you a glimpse into my current life.

I am now a middle-aged woman, and I still live in the woods. My legal name was officially changed from Little Red Riding Hood to Red Hood on my twentieth birthday. In her will, my grandmother left me her small cottage. Before moving in, I hired a security company to install high-tech security systems and cameras. I take no chances.

You may recognize the familiar illustrations of me at age ten, with blonde curls and a red hooded cloak. I grew into a fairly attractive woman. My hair has dulled over the years, so I use professional products to dye it a youthful golden blonde. I’m of average height. My wardrobe includes many colors, though I admit I still have a weakness for the color that shares my name: red.

I no longer wear a cape—it’s a terribly impractical garment. My favorite piece of clothing is a red hoodie with a front zipper and deep pockets. Appearance has always mattered to me. I pay attention to what suits me best, and I’ve discovered that my legs look especially nice in heels. I hate to admit it, but I’ve indulged in the purchase of many pairs of striking red high heels. You might say I’ve perfected the art of walking in them. My husband claims this is pure vanity, but he smiles and winks whenever I show him a new pair.

I had several relationships, but marriage never crossed my mind until I met someone who truly understood childhood trauma. My husband is the brother of my close friend Gretel. His name is Hansel. Hansel and I are both proud of ourselves for overcoming deeply painful experiences. Like my story, Hansel and Gretel’s lives have also been turned into storybooks.

Hansel appreciates my decorating style. He wanted nothing to do with a home that resembled a stereotypical gingerbread house. Recently, we had a photographer take a portrait of us in our cozy cottage. Hansel looks handsome in his lederhosen, and I look lovely in a form-fitting red dress paired with my red heels.

But appearances only matter so much. What truly defines us is the advocacy work Hansel and I support. As victims of crime and as children whose lives were exploited for profit, we are deeply involved in legal efforts to protect other children. Hansel holds a law degree, and his firm specializes in—and actively tries—these cases. You may have seen his firm’s advertisements on television: the ones celebrating victories on behalf of Jack (also known as Jack of Beanstalk fame) and Pinocchio, who is, in fact, a real boy.

Sadly, we did not prevail in the highly publicized trial on behalf of Peter Pan. Hansel hopes to appeal the decision. These cases have severely depleted our limited financial resources—but the work is vital.

That is why we ask for your help.

First, please stop telling children about our misfortunes as though they are harmless bedtime entertainment. We are real people with real pain.

Second, we urge you to donate to the Red Hood Foundation. Your contribution is tax-deductible and will help us continue to litigate and win cases that protect children. For every $500 donation, you will receive a red hoodie from us. For a $100 donation, you will receive a red coffee mug featuring our photograph.

Show that you care about children. Donate generously.

After all, we are fighting for every child’s chance to live happily ever after. We long for a world free of monsters—whether they are wolves in disguise, giants who smell the blood of Englishmen, or witches who lure children with candy so they can eat them.

Help us stop these atrocities.

Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer: Only 10% of donated funds will be used to purchase fashion items such as my red hoodies.

Tell me a story about wallpaper!

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I encourage you to take a moment to share photos or memories of wallpaper that once claimed precious wall real estate in your homes. It’s such a fun topic—and almost everyone seems to have a story to tell.

Wallpaper actually began as a luxury, created in medieval times as a substitute for costly wall tapestries. By the 18th and 19th centuries, printing advances made wallpaper more affordable and accessible across social classes. It reached peak popularity during the Victorian era—though unfortunately, this was also when many wallpapers contained arsenic. Yikes. Because people didn’t yet understand the dangers, the resulting illnesses were often blamed on “bad air.”

I’ve been using Google search within my Google Photos albums to track down pieces of our own family wallpaper history, and it’s been a surprisingly delightful trip down memory lane. I hope you’ll share photos too! Tell me about the wallpaper you loved… or the patterns you couldn’t wait to see disappear.

Linda Claire, Kathryn, Edward Klotz “Bones”, Madalyn Klotz and Mary Ann in March 1960 at the Klotz home on North Main Street, Ann Arbor, MI.
I colorized this photo and enhanced it, but in my memory it should have more gold tones. What a lovely and elegant 60’s style entry way to 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor, MI The pocket door on the left side was the doorway to the kitchen.
The dining room at 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor, MI – photo from the mid 1960’s.
This photo shows the wallpaper in the dining room at 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor, MI. My Heritage dates this photo with 86% accuracy as 1977. Pictured are: Robert Hess, Tim Whitmer, Madalyn Klotz and ? (this does not look like Aunt Babe to me???)
This photo is estimated as 1975. The Dining Room of 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor. The door wall leads out to the enclosed back porch.
I am dating this wonderful photo of Dad at about 1990. He is seated in his study at 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor, MI . I adored this wallpaper and the study. This was also the location for our piano.

When Mike was in college at the University of Michigan, he rented an apartment near the Law Quad on Oakland Avenue. Honestly, I don’t think anyone could ever top the creative use of wallpaper in that place. It was boldly expressive and always sparked conversation.

I’m still a little distraught that I can’t find the photo I took of the living room ceiling—it was covered with a huge quilted star that was absolutely unforgettable. The image below is from the entryway of that apartment, but the ceiling is the one I wish I could show you!

The front hall to Mike’s apartment on Oakland Ave., Ann Arbor. This wallpaper design was carried through into the living room and was really quite remarkable.

The wallpaper story that immediately comes to mind for me is Mike and I trying to remove a Winnie-the-Pooh wall border in the house at 2725 Yost Blvd. It must have been super-glued to the wall. We were so determined to get the job finished before our exchange student arrived that we worked ourselves into total exhaustion. Somewhere along the way, fatigue turned into slap-happy delirium, and the whole miserable task became oddly hilarious in retrospect.

Spring of 2020 – by Linda Claire Hess Groshans

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Spring of 2020 

The Spring of 2020 sprung full of sorrow and fear. In January of 2020, we had heard stories of a terrible virus. The virus was named Covid-19 because it had been discovered in the year 2019. This virus made the news by January, but it had not yet really changed our lives in the state of Michigan. But the clock was ticking, and the virus was ruthless. 

By March of 2020 there were the earliest signs of Spring but also the fear of a new life reality. The virus was now proclaimed to be a pandemic. It was here to stay for an unspecified time. I have always spent a lot of my time doing genealogy. I had studied a relative’s life who had died during the 1917/18 pandemic. I also knew that these pandemics appear around every 100 years. The horror of realizing that a pandemic would be a part of my life reality was devastating. I was more worried for my family than myself. But it was all a grave concern. I have several health conditions that put me at more risk for serious disease. One of those health concerns was obesity. I made choices to use the time of the pandemic as a time to rid myself of excess weight. I planned to walk daily. I walked off pound after pound. I walked miles every day either rain or shine.  

My fear level was high. I watched the news stories, and they were not good. Our nation was not prepared for this event. Our nation’s leader denied the science and denied the revered Dr. Fauci. I was in despair. My sense of terror was growing as my understanding of the implications to the future of humanity became more informed thru the science stories that I consumed by watching hours of TV news.  

On March 10, 2020 I went for a preparation shopping trip. I was going to shop like the preppers who plan for the end of the world. I wanted to buy enough to sustain myself for several months. You see at that time I still thought the pandemic would not last more than that. I did something that is hard to do when you live in a tiny house, I hoarded. I packed a grocery cart with over $300.00 worth of food, cleaning supplies, and paper products. I had big jumbo bags of rice, pounds of potatoes and cans of soup. I only have a tiny kitchen, so my closets had to become mini pantries. I had to use my laundry soap bottles as door stops, and a rather odd look began to emerge in my tiny dwelling. As I personally started to shed some weight, my tiny home suffered from an over stocking.  

The Governor of Michigan issued a “Stay Home and Stay Safe” proclamation in the spring of 2020. I decided then that I would wait out the pandemic in the safe bubble of my little house. I live alone, so this was an incredibly significant decision that began to change many of my priorities. I am a social creature, so this was foreign to me. 

One of the first good things that happened was the advent of Zoom meetings. I zoomed. I zoomed and zoomed. I zoomed with my family in Germany and in San Francisco. I zoomed with family in St. Louis Missouri, I zoomed with family in Atlanta Georgia and in Fargo North Dakota. Oddly enough, I was also zooming with family in Ann Arbor Michigan even though we lived just a few miles from each other.  

Still, during all the despair in the world, there was a change in our seasons. Spring finally was arriving by April and May of 2020. On my morning walks, I saw signs of crocus and other spring flowers. I spent a great deal of time engaging in my other hobby of photography and especially macro photography. I posted photos to my friends on social media. I posted photos on google maps and other places. 

I had many phone calls with friends. I also started a writing campaign to our state lawmakers. My social awareness had accelerated and there was clearly action to be taken. 

In May of 2020, I sadly realized that because of Covid and my isolation I would not be making my annual trip to the flower nursery. I adore flower gardens. I sat at my computer and ordered flower seeds on Amazon Prime. So strange. It was all so strange. I ordered zinnia seeds. By the end of summer in 2020, I had a new title in the neighborhood and on social media. I was now called the Zinnia Queen because my yard exploded with these flowers in every inch of soil available to them.  

By May of 2020, I was not sure how much longer I could endure. My weight was still going down. All the walking and gardening was good for me. I also am very called to be socially active. I became very disquieted by stories coming from meat packing plants across our country, especially Iowa. I saw the working conditions for employees of these plants where they worked in horrid conditions during this global pandemic. I made a choice to be fully vegan and then I lost still more weight.  

In the spring of 2020, I took a class on cartography and made a map. I made a map of a fantasy city/state land that showed my Covid-19 experiences. By this time, I also sadly had begun to hear stories of the souls who had perished. People who I had known. Life was fearful. And yet, in my morning walks, I studied and photographed flowers. I zoomed with friends. I stopped hoarding food when I realized how easy it was to order it on-line. I engaged in learning more about the issues of racial injustices. I put my efforts into joining writing campaigns and classes as I made not just a change in my weight but in my understanding of our culture and of white privilege. I yearned for change in politics, racial equality, economics, and a million other concerns. 

Looking back, the biggest thing that was happening was the change that I was undergoing. I was a socially conscious, active liberal, a vegan Zinnia Queen. I was more in love with my loved ones even though I was not able to share time in person with them. I met new people in on-line forums. Life was moving forward. The Spring was causing a metamorphosis.  

It is now approaching the spring of 2021. I just had my Covid 19 vaccine. I have more hope. I will forever be changed. This Spring, the lessons of 2020 will be very present as I prepare to finally step outside my tiny home and into the world. I still hope to keep my Zinnia Queen title. I yearn for healing. I yearn for all people to have the opportunity to be vaccinated. I know that I will leave this experience more aware, and thankfully still alive. I have sprung into a resolve to keep the lessons of the dark year we call 2020. 

My family’s reading journey through time

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Celebrating Reading! Linda Claire 2023
My maternal grandparents both were highly educated. Henrietta was a graduate of the Chicago School of Music and George was a graduate of the University of Michigan with a degree in Engineering. This photo is c1919. I believe that this photo is from the farm house in Benton Harbor, MI. My father told me that Henrietta made a condition of her move from the city to the farm was the promise that she could have her piano. Henrietta could easily read Latin and Hebrew texts.

One of the gifts that our family has continued to pass down through the generations is a love of reading and storytelling. I have compiled a precious photo collection in this blog. I selected photos that focus on books and reading with the hopes that they will help demonstrate how reading is often a way that knowledge is passed from one generation to the next. Parents reading to children and families reading together are powerful reminders of the quality level of joy that we get when we read together. When I look at these photos, I also experience a bond that I feel spanning the decades. As always, I hope that my blogs help open up our memories and generate our anecdotes and stories about these captured moments. I hope this blog provides a snapshot of my beloved family members at various stages of life, sharing a common activity that bonds them.

This is a photo of my paternal grandfather reading. I have estimated the age of this photo as 1942.
This is a page from a digital scrapbook that I made several years ago. Mom loved to read to her children and grandchildren. I estimate the photo of my mother as 1943.
Walter Mayer was the husband of my Great Aunt Babe (Helen Grayer Mayer). Stories of Walter always included references to his kind and gentle nature. Reading an actual newspaper was very much a part of our daily lives. I believe this photo was taken at 1517 Harbrooke Ave., Ann Arbor, MI. I estimate the date of the photo to be from 1954.
This is a photo of Aunt Babe reading to me and my sister Mary Ann. We were at our home of 1517 Harbrooke Ave., Ann Arbor, MI. I estimate the date of this photo as 1956. Aunt Babe has her hair in pin curls. Sections of the hair were twisted up and held in place with a metal clip. If women wore their pin curls outside the home, they put on a fashion scarf or a bonnet. The title of this book is “Peter Goes to School.”
This is one of my favorite photos of my father, Robert Lawrence Hess. He is reading us a Golden Book on safety. Golden Books have very much stayed popular since their debut in 1942 (12 years before I was born.) I estimate the photo date is 1956.
I loved sitting in my Grandmother’s lap while she read, sang songs and told stories. This photo appears to have been taken at our home at 1517 Harbrooke Ave., Ann Arbor, MI. I estimate the photo date to be 1956/57.
This is a photo of my father – Robert Lawrence Hess. I estimate the date to be 1956. My father’s brilliant career meant that much of this time was spent in reading and writing technical papers.
Every fall our photos were taken for school. This is my sister Mary Ann. A common photo prop for school photos were books.
I estimate that this photo is from 1959. My mother served for many years as a Sunday School teacher at Bethlehem Church in Ann Arbor. This is a photo of her reading to her students.
This is my photo from 1960. The book was just a photo prop supplied by the professional photographer, but I had already become an avid reader. As a young girl, I had very blonde hair with very dark brown eyes. My hair is now white…but LOL…I still have very brown eyes!
This photo is from an estimated date of 1962 – taken in front of our home at 1517 Harbrooke, Ann Arbor, MI. Slater’s book store was located on State Street in Ann Arbor and was one of the exciting highlights of our childhood. Our family friend Winnie Martin worked in the children’s section and would always greet us and guide us to treasures to be found in the store. The children’s section was located at the very rear of the store on the main level. I was just exiting this store on 22 November 1963 when the whole city got quiet and grief stricken with the breaking news that President Kennedy had been shot. I remember just standing on State Street as the world seemed to move into a slow motion reel with all the grown ups and students beginning to cry.
Grandma Pet often gave us books as gifts. This is one of the books that she selected for me. I valued everything from her so much. I estimate this book was a gift to me in 1962.
I estimate the date of this to be March 1962. Mary Ann was quite the good pianist and our family loved Winnie the Pooh books. In fact, Dad read every book in the Pooh series out loud as bedtime stories for us.
One of the all time favorite photos of cuteness. Not exactly reading but it looks like cowgirl Khaki decided to take an impromptu nap while writing out Valentine cards. Adorable. I estimate the date of this photo is 1965.
Every time I see his smile, it floods me with memories. Bones and Madalyn played such an important part of our family life.
Amy is getting treated to a story read to her by Aunt Marie.
I can see Amy has the book Corduroy in her reading pile – one of our favorites. I estimate this photo to be from 1984.
A photo of our dear family friend Winnie Martin with Kristy and Amy. I estimate the date of this photo is 1985.
I look so happy and I was so happy reading to me niece Kristy and my daughter Amy. I estimate this photo date as 1985.
Amy was an early reader and a devoted reader. To this day, Amy is still always checking out a find from the library. The tradition is being passed on to her son who reads every day – I am so proud! I estimate this photo date as 1987. This was taken at our home at 609 S. 1st Street, Ann Arbor, MI.
I am sure that Bones was as happy as a clam watching Kristy and Amy reading. This photo was taken at 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor, MI. I estimate the date to be 1987.
What a fun photo of Amy. I estimate the photo date to be 1988. The photo was taken in the Living Room at 2629 Danbury Lane, Ann Arbor, MI.
It looks like Amy is just starting a new read…I estimate this photo to be from 1989. This photo was taken in the kitchen of 609 S. 1st Street, Ann Arbor, MI.
I am guessing that this was a Sunday morning with Jack and Amy sharing the Ann Arbor News. I estimate this photo date as 1990. The photo was taken in the living room of 609 S. 1st Street, Ann Arbor, MI.
Amy in her Penguins hockey jersey – one of her favorites. I estimate this photo to be from 1990. The photo was taken in the living room of 609 S. 1st Street, Ann Arbor, MI. It was popular to put a sort of film over your windows to keep out the cold – you can easily see this on our front window.
This is a photo of Khaki’s baby shower in 1991. It looks like one of her gifts was a storybook.
It looks like Blake is interested in what he can see on the computer desk! I estimate the photo date to be 1992.
Mike is already interested in reading! I estimate this photo is from 1992.
Yes…Mike did have very red hair for a period of time. I love this photo of my children sharing a story together. I estimate this photo is from 1992.
It looks like Blake is also using his storybook to pose some of his toys! 1993.
What a precious photo of the Barnes family reading together- 1993.
Big brother Blake is introducing Kevin to the world of reading. 1997.
Mike is busy reading in the family antique rocking chair. This photo was taken at 549 Lancaster Ct., Saline, MI. I estimated the photo date is 1998.
Mike reading with his sunglasses…I wish I could figure out what book this is? I estimated the date for this photo as 2000.
Kevin at his preschool library. The photo is from 2000.
It looks like Kevin is enjoying an I Spy book. Photo date 2000.
Kevin reading from the computer monitor. Photo date 2000.
Grandpa taking a look at Kevin’s new book. 2004.
Kevin…2004. Is this a book about cars? I like this reading position!
Amy and Drew. 2008. What are they reading? I love this photo!
Amy and Drew got married in a bookstore. 9.10.11
What a wonderful venue for a perfect wedding in NYC. 2011.
This is a photo of the Wiesner home in Portland. I love seeing the cookbooks here. Amy is a fantastic vegan chef. Photo 2017.
Grandma Pet (me) and EJ had fun posing his Star War guys next to the storybook. 2018.
Seriously, I love this photo for 100 reasons. It is fun to see an Auntie M blanket, a lego toy, The Hobbit book, and Amy and Drew both reading from electronic devices. PERFECT. 2019.
This is a stack of books from a Little Free Library – reading became even more important to me during shelter-in-place CoVid times. 2020.
Sometimes I think of funny poses…this was a fun book. 2020.
Never stop learning…what a goofball outfit. 2020.
I like this fairy – she lives on my front porch. 2020.

A great photo of Khaki at her Ann Arbor home – by a bookshelf in Kevin’s room. 2021.
I like this interactive book. 2021.
I got a new bookcase and am getting ready to load it up. 2022.
It is fun to use photoshop!
Mike in a German bookstore. 2023.

Falling in Love- a short story by Linda Claire Groshans

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My sister Mary Ann came to me with an idea just before my 18th birthday. My birthday gift from her would be a completely arranged blind date. All I had to do was be willing. My sister and her boyfriend would arrange for this blind date to be a double date to the circus that was playing in the Metro area. According to their plan, I would not meet my date until he arrived at my home on my eighteenth birthday.  

I am now embarrassed to admit that my questions about my blind date were about as shallow as a could be. You see these questions were purely based on his physical appearance and had little to do with his intellect or nature. 

“What does he look like?” I wanted to know. 

“He is tall and very good looking.” my sister explained. 

Now this sounded promising to me. I had just purchased a pair of 3 suede high heels with a metal stud décor, and I was relived to find out he was a tall guy so I could easily wear my new shoes without towering over my date’s head. Looking back at this philosophy and qualifying a date by his height or my shoes seems ridiculous to me now, but at that time it was paramount. 

“How tall?” I asked her. 

She surprised me when she said that he was 6’5” tall. Yep, this could be good because I could easily wear those new high heels. And this was important because I also had a new wool vest and hot pants combination outfit. The hotpants were wool plaid and they matched to my new high heeled shoes.  I am so sorry that no photograph seems to exist of me in this smoking hot outfit.  

Funny the things we choose to remember through the decades, but those hot pants and those shoes were one of my finest “drop the mic” looks. My polished look had also been achieved by wearing curlers to bed the night before so that my long blond hair would wave with body and shine.  

My parents were there to get the door when the doorbell rang on the evening of our date. My sister and her date greeted him into our home. All I had to do was walk down the stairs and meet him in the foyer. Now, as I imagined myself to be somewhat of a super model in the ultimate outfit, I tried to make my descent down the stairs a picture-perfect moment. I wanted to put all my theater and drama training into good use. Everyone was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. That also means that everyone was there to see me trip on the last step and make a small falling motion. I did not fall down completely because my blind date caught me as he broke my fall with his arms outstretched. 

When I looked at him, he was smiling down at me. He looked like a Greek god. He was handsome beyond my wildest dreams. He had perfect dark hair and the brownest of eyes. His physique was athletic and trim. And he was certainly tall. Even in my suede heels I only came to his shoulder height. He released me from his arms and warmly joked, “Wow, I guess you really fell for me.”  

The date was perfect. We enjoyed the circus and all the fun things that could accompany such a date including vendor snack foods. I don’t even remember if we did much talking. I had literally fallen in love with him at first sight. I was giddy with joy. Could this possibly be real? 

There were more dates in our future and getting to know him only secured my belief that I was truly in love with the perfect person. 

We were young. I still had college ahead of me and he would join the Air Force. We made it through those years writing long love letters and saving money for long distance calls. Our love flourished. He professed his love for me, and I was absolutely gone on him. I traveled to Andrews Air Force Base and he traveled to my college for visits as often as we could arrange it.  

About 5 years after we met, we planned our wedding. Jack became my husband. We had a magical honeymoon to Stratford, Ontario. We ate in fancy restaurants and attended the Shakespeare theater there. We held hands, kissed, and walked through parks and the city. I was charmed. For years after that honeymoon, we would recall moments of joyfulness that we shared.  

The years progressed and our first child arrived nearly nine years after we had first met.  Our daughter arrived and we became a family of our own. We were such good friends and parents.  

As our daughter grew, I also found a dream job working in management for a large Ann Arbor hotel. My career was going strong and so it seemed a good time for Jack to go to school on the GI bill and complete college too. 

We started to argue. We argued a lot. I don’t even know exactly what those fights were about anymore. We were not perfect, he was not perfect, and I was not perfect.  

19 years after we first met, we had a second child, our son. All of what I wanted was in my happy orbit. My beautiful children, my handsome husband, and a lovely house. I would make sure that the arguing stopped. I made it my career to try and be pleasing and lighthearted when we were together. I tried not to engage when he criticized me. I was sure it would all be fine.   

But it came undone. I just had not noticed that he had become increasingly unhappy. When he told me that the marriage was over it was a complete shock. I was sucker punched, the rug was pulled out from me, I hit a brick wall and the idea of divorce was a surprise to me. How could this have happened to us?  

Later, I would learn that love is not always enough to keep a marriage together. My love was not enough.  

I was terrified about becoming a single mother to a toddler and a teenager. I begged him. I cried and pleaded. And he left me. He left the family home with our children. We divorced.  Before long at all I heard that he had married his co-worker.  

I still loved him. He was married to someone else.  

Years have gone by. There were some new love affairs after my marriage, but I never remarried. When I think of him, I still recall that deep love we once shared so easily and my heart is sad that we did not make it.  I wish him well. I am ok. This February of 2021, I will turn 67 years old. It was 49 years ago that I fell for him. I do not regret that love story. I also no longer regret that he left because I have had a full vibrant life. I just wish that I could still wear those smokin’ hotpants and I do regret having no photo of that youthful woman I once was as my eyes looked up with adoration to that man who stole my heart.  

And that is when she heard a noise…a short story by Linda Claire Groshans

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Linda was 40 years old and had 2 children. The recent divorce meant that Linda was the only adult living in the household. This was a new situation for her to find herself in. Up until this time, she had lived with her parents or her husband. The adjustment to single parenting was going fairly well for Linda. But the evenings loomed with loneliness and her fears.

Every evening, as Linda climbed into her bed, she would hear sounds. Until she lived as the sole adult, she had simply given no thought to the simple noises a house could make. Her parents and then her husband had been charged with the responsibility to keep everyone safe. Now, as Linda lay in her bed alone, the radiators banged in such a way that one could easily interpret the noise as a person trying to pry open a door!  Creak, tap, tap. The tree that needed trimming sometimes banged against the windowpanes sounded like a villain pounding against the door demanding entry. Pound, thump, pound.

Linda supposed that her fears were normal for an adult who needed to secure the safety of herself and her 2 children. She was just not used to being at such a level of responsibility. She loved her children and prayed for their safety and she felt that she needed to stay vigilant here in these dark hours before slumber set in.

Her neighbor friend Bill was a Federal Marshall. Bill had given her a defense plan after her divorce. He advised her to keep a pair of large men’s boots near the front door. This would supposedly fake out a burglar who upon seeing the boots would believe that she was not single and vulnerable. The work boots would suggest a rugged, tough guy lived in this house. Linda had purchased the perfect boots at the local thrift store and placed them on the front doormat.  Bill also suggested that a can of wasp spray would be a good defense tool. In the event of an intruder, Linda could kneel beside her bed and spray a good distance and with great accuracy towards the eyes of the intruder.

So, Linda went to sleep with her cell phone handy and a can of wasp spray always nearby.

Over a period of months, Linda began to calm herself. The radiator and the tree taps were simply background noises. Linda also began to have confidence in her handling of life as a single Mom and even laughed at her early fears and trepidations of nighttime dangers.

It was a frosty February evening when she heard a noise that caused her adrenaline to spike. Linda reached for her wasp spray and her phone. The noise had definitely been the sound of breaking glass. Linda analyzed where the noise had originated. It had clearly been the room just below her bedroom. It had come from the family room. This was also the only room in the house with a large glass door wall.

It was odd that at this serious threat she never thought of calling 9-1-1. It was probably because every other noise had always been a false alert. This was different. Someone had broken the glass downstairs. As Linda crept down the upstairs hallway, she could see that the children were snug in their beds and sound asleep. Linda knew her floor well, she knew where to avoid the creaking boards. Her bare feet traveled noiselessly along the hallway to the staircase.

There, at the top of the stairs, she paused waiting to see if she could hear anyone walking around downstairs. Instead, she heard again the noise of breaking glass. She could hear it and could envision the tiny pieces of glass that surely now covered her family room floor.  Still, she heard no footsteps. Linda creeped with great stealth down the stairs with the wasp spray at the ready.

Ever so carefully Linda came closer to the scene of the crime. If only she had left some boots by that back entry to her home.

In one dramatic gesture Linda reached the light wall switch. She flipped it on with fearless determination. She would face down her aggressor. The wasp spray was uncapped, and her finger was ready to press down the aerosol spray button.

That is when she heard the noise again and saw the source. Pumpkin, the new orange kitten, was walking the treble cleft part of the piano keyboard.  Ping, ping, ting, ting, ping. The same sound as Linda had heard before. A piano song that sounded just like breaking glass.

Linda nearly collapsed with relief. She lowered her wasp spray weapon.

A sunset date a short story by Linda Claire Groshans

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photo by Linda Claire

Randy was on his 4th date with Carey. He really liked her, and he hoped she would like his choices for the evening he had planned for them. After all, he had listened carefully to Carey on their previous date and he had made mental notes about her preferences for dining choices and types of activities.

And so, it was, that on a Friday night Randy arrived at Carey’s apartment to pick her up and drive her to begin the date at a deli with vegan options. When they finished dining, he drove straight over to the County Park and the hiking trails there.

Randy was clever enough to make the date romantic by announcing that he would leave his cell phone in the car. He told her that he wanted to give her his full attention. Randy had never been at this park and was not generally known for his sense of direction. Still, he figured how hard could it be to hike around a park.

Randy enjoyed Carey’s brilliant conversations and found it easy to be relaxed and be himself with her. His normal shyness was simply gone, and he felt an easy joy and comfort in her presence. Carey pointed out mushrooms, birds, and warned him of low branches. Randy had never had much outdoor nature experience, but it was quickly becoming his favorite activity and he wanted to learn everything from this attractive date.

And so, the time passed. And so more time passed. Randy simply paid no attention to the dimming light until Carey brought it to mind when she said, “Randy, this should be fun, we should be able to see the sunset together.”

Good grief, Randy was startled. He had no idea where they would see the sunset as he had no idea as to where they were and no idea which direction was west. In fact, he started to realize that he was lost. He was hopelessly lost in the County Park, but he did not want to alarm Carey.

Randy realized that this lost persons emergency might cause them to have to end up in the park in the complete dark of night. He began to worry about how a person spent a night in the outdoors. If only he had gone to Boy Scouts. Was there wildlife in this wooded park? He wondered. Perhaps there were coyotes. And Randy then began to think about any knowledge he might have on coyotes and how to fend them off. “Bears!” he thought to himself. “Oh my God, there could be bears!”

If only he knew where his Jeep was!

“Randy?” Carey asked, “Are you o.k.? You look worried.”

Randy had to punt. He quickly replied with a false bravado, “I’m fine, just wondering if you know the best place to watch the sunset.”

Carey pointed to the ridge ahead and then spoke, “Yes, I know this area. There is a good spot just up this path. We can sit right there and enjoy the whole view.” And as she said this the sky began to change to a beautiful shade of pink. Carey looked so happy. Was it his imagination or was she glowing?

Randy was grateful that they had spent some quality time together but, he was also aware that this would surely be the very last date invitation she would accept from a loser like him. If only he had just taken her out bowling.

The ridge appeared and it was complete with a fallen tree limb to lean against. Randy sat next to Carey hoping to make the next of the few precious moments that were left before he had to admit their plight. He promised himself not to cause her fear by telling her about lurking wild creatures that might stalk them soon.

Randy finally lifted his eyes off his hands clenched in his lap to the sky unfolding just over the ridge. Then, the miracle appeared. For Randy, the sky was parting, the angels were singing, the world was explosive with joy because just at the bottom of the ridge was the parking lot and Randy’s Jeep was parked right there! “Hallelujah,” Randy thought and held up a quite prayer of joy. By agreeing to watch a sunset, he had redeemed himself. Now, there was a possibility of getting that 5th date with Carey and next time he would take her bowling.

Randy put his arm around Carey and settled into watching his first sunset. Well, he had seen hundreds of sunsets, but he had never really seen one. This sunset was absurdly beautiful. He had no camera, but he took to memory the quickly changing shades of illumination being drawn across the sky. It was glorious. He glanced back at Carey and much to his amazement, she was looking right at him and then she planted a kiss on his lips.

“Wow,” Randy said. “I really like you Carey, and that amazing kiss!”

Carey smiled at him and said, “I have never been with any man so excited about a sunset. When you looked over the ridge, your expression was so joyous. Your magnificent reaction was contagious.”  

Randy decided right then that some secrets are worth keeping. He never would reveal that his glory moment was at discovering the parking lot and seeing his Jeep. Randy also decided right then and there to always bring his phone and to make sure it was loaded with a compass app and an app for hiking trails. It was all going to be o.k. After all, bowling should be a safe bet for that next date with his splendid new friend Carey.

The Argument a short story by Linda Claire Groshans

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Their small argument started on a Tuesday morning. Mary Lou and Hank had been married for 38 years and they loved each other dearly. They rarely had a cross word. But during their seclusion in the midst of the Corona virus pandemic, they recently had found themselves snapping at each other over the slightest provocation. Annoyance was mounting.

Mary Lou asked him, “Do you want more coffee?”  It was her way to make up.

“Nope.” He said gruffly and then crossed his arms over this chest to indicate he was not ready for the argument to be over quite yet. He had a right to feel upset. After all, this was at least the 10th time that Mary Lou had made a rude comment about his habit of watching old game show reruns.

Hank got up to grab the coffee pot himself in a rather dramatic way aiming to show her that he was the martyred one who had to make all the sacrifices.

He started to talk. “There is nothing else to do now. NOTHING! Besides, I’m not the one who opened the front door!” he said in a voice that was loud enough to surprise even him.

“Oh, here we go again.” Mary Lou retorted and then went back to sipping her coffee in a way designed to look peaceful and unruffled. Her composure made Hank even more upset. He knew this was a ridiculous argument, but he could not help himself. The truth was it just felt better for him to be arguing than their routine of nothingness.

“I can’t golf, I can’t go to the swim club, there are no sports games to attend, I am done with this!” He was of course referring to the fact that they were very much sheltered in their home during the corona virus.

“Uh-huh,” Mary Lou said without looking up from her cell phone screen.

“What do you want to do today…nothing?” He demanded.

“I’m just going to enjoy my coffee. It looks like it will be nice outside today.” Mary Lou said while she purposefully tried to stay even keeled and calm. You might think this made her an angel, but her motives were not so pure. She knew that Hank could not stand her staying calm during a tiff. She knew that she was getting the best of this argument.

“Well, what about the door?” He snapped.

Mary Lou knew exactly what he was talking about. Hank was a good man. Hank was a loving husband, but Hank was also very obsessed with the front door that Mary Lou had rushed to open on New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight. She said she was inviting the new year in. She could not wait for 2020 to launch she had said. Good riddance to 2019 and another year of political divides and an impeachment of the President. On that New Year’s evening as they celebrated together, they had toasted with their glasses and laughed as Hank then proceeded to open the back door to give the boot to 2019. The old year out the back door and the new year in the front door.

But the gloom of 2020 was unbearable. The world felt like it was falling apart and here they were in July 2020 spending a lovely summer day inside having a ridiculous argument over New Year’s Eve and old TV game shows. 129 days of isolation and it was wearing on him.

Hank pouted for nearly 2 hours. He paced, he looked miserable and when he finally made his way over to the reclining chair, he sat and put his face in his hands and sighed loudly.

Mary Lou felt herself softening. After all, this was just a man who always knew what to do and how to take care of everything and now he was lost in the despair that was surrounding them and filling the world stage.

“Do you want to watch an old game show?” Mary Lou asked as she refilled his coffee cup and brought him a muffin. Mary Lou normally would not concede to watching TV game shows, but she knew that is how the fight started and she could easily end it by putting up with one silly old show.

“OK” he said and then he said, “Thanks for the muffin.”

They had been together long enough to know the fight was over.

“What show did you find?” Mary Lou asked him.

“Oh, it is called Let’s Make a Deal.” He was smiling.

When the TV emcee came on the screen, he looked at the contestant and confirmed that they would open door #2 to see if the grand prize was waiting.

Mary Lou was going to give Hank a bit of her mind about picking a show about doors. But when she saw Hank’s face light up with that crooked little half smile, she just felt happy. He was delighted with this inane form of entertainment.

“Hank, I’m sorry I opened the door to 2020.” She said softly. “I should have kept the dead bolt locked that night.”

“I’m sorry for how I just behaved. This is hard for me.” When he said this, he did not even look at her. It was a struggle when he asked, “Are we going to be o.k.?” He turned and waited for her answer.

She just smiled and gave a little nod of her head because he had already turned back to the game show and was laughing loudly at the bad choice the contestant had made.  “I feel your pain buddy.” Hank shouted to the TV guest.

Later that night, Mary Lou and Hank got a text message that their niece had just given birth to a healthy baby girl. 2020 might be a year of a world pandemic, but it was also the year of birth and love. Covid was not going to get the last word on everything. And because hope springs eternal, Hank went to bed dreaming about watching more game shows soon.

Talented art critics…a short story by Linda Claire Groshans

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Linda Claire by original art work…artist not known

Mary Lou was the first to admit she was eccentric. Some of the things she routinely experienced were considered impossible, unbelievable, and as some would say they were downright strange thoughts with no basis in reality. She was an odd ball. She was not an artist even though that was the general assumption that people had made of her. But she was extremely well regarded in prestigious art circles. When she was published, she laid claim to the title ‘world renowned premier art critic.’

Society accepted Mary Lou’s mysterious ways because her insights and opinions
on valuable art creations were legendary. Her memory for various artists and
their paintings astounded even world-class leading art authorities. If asked
about a painting, she could describe it in a way that was almost intimate. The
various colors, styles, subjects, and themes were masterfully described. There
was something beyond that too. There was some way in which you could say she just
knew the painting. She saw a painting and she experienced the painting. She knew
them in such an intimate way that her reflections were more heightened than the
artist’s own perceptions about their paintings.

Mary Lou knew why she had this talent and why she had been able to establish
this level of authority. She knew, but she dared not tell a soul why she had
this talent.

Mary Lou did, however, end up telling me about her hidden insight because
she could recognize that I was in possession of the same ability.

This is where I should introduce myself. My name is Claire. I am a single senior citizen
who has loved the visual arts since childhood. I am not famous like Mary Lou
and I have never publicly critiqued any painting or artist. Instead, I have a
habit of going to flea markets and secondhand stores where I rummage through
various paintings and prints. I also surf the net and explore paintings with
various themes.

Are you wondering if Mary Lou and I are women with extra sensory perception?
ESP is thought of as receiving information from what is sensed rather than felt
through our physical senses. I do not know if that definition exactly fits the
talent that Mary Lou and I have. Maybe thousands of people have our skill but they
have all remained quiet about it for fear of being shamed or given a label
of strange, odd, and a little touched in the head.

Now that I am an old woman, I have decided to explain the gift that I have
and that Mary Lou has mastered because it might open a door for others like us
to come forward and have discussions and work in concert to give a more
bountiful vibrancy to the art pieces they encounter.

And because I think this will open a door for others to immerse themselves
more fully into the visual arts, I will speak now and ask that as I tell you this secret you remain quiet and perhaps close your eyes and open your minds. Prepare. I will now reveal to you the secret of being a great art critic. This should open a door for you, or
perhaps you are already gifted with this talent.

First, imagine any painting that comes to your recall. Next, walk into it.
Yes, that is the pure secret to the gift. If you walk into a painting you check
it’s textures, see if the shadows are in the right place, picture the subject
as a first hand observer, and walk through the painted landscapes or open an
old wooden door. Stay in the painting. Touch the garments and the grass. See if
the artist has captured the light playing on the water. Then continue to
concentrate and see yourself there inside the painting. Do not judge, just
observe. Turn your head, look up and down, look for secrets, look for meanings,
examine your feelings and emotions. Stay inside the painting until you are
gradually ready to leave. The memory of that painting and all of it’s
particulars will remain with you forever.

You see, the gift that I possess is the ability to be there. To be in the painting.
Maybe, I have opened a door so that you can walk into a painting too. Just be
there.

The Moon. A short story by Linda Claire Groshans

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The summer night sky was sparkled with stars and a bright full moon. The little girl was seated in the backseat of her grandfather’s Chevy station wagon as they traveled the dirt roads towards his home. It was special for her to be out this late and it made her feel almost like an 8-year-old instead of the mere 7-year-old she was.

“Grandpa, I think the moon is following our car.” She made the declaration with great and serious consideration.

“Hmm,” he replied and then continued, “What makes you think that the moon is following us?”

She became more animated. “So, every time you make a turn in the road, I can still see the moon right there. It has to be following us otherwise we wouldn’t be able to see it when we turned those corners.” And when she explained this to her grandfather, she felt even a wee bit older still.

The old man adjusted the rear-view mirror a bit to glimpse his lovely granddaughter. He felt again the joy of grand parenting. He loved being let into her innocent childish thoughts, so he replied to her comment with a challenge. “Should we take the long way home and make a lot of turns and really check out your theory?”

“Oh yes Grandpa” she was thrilled.

The old man veered about and made many turns so his beloved granddaughter could continue to test her moon theory.

“Grandpa, it’s working. It is still following our car.” She exclaimed and then asked, “Do you think there is a man in the moon, Grandpa?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. What I can tell you is that the moon has always been a good friend to me. I call this friend Luna. And, I think Luna can be your friend too.”

“Luna” she said the word with some reverence, and she was delighted to know that the moon could be her friend. “Grandpa, does Luna ever talk to you?”

He gave a serious reply, “Oh, not in the usual way. But Luna does listen, and she sends a light out for our path. In fact, when I was in the great war, I talked to Luna right above the decks of our Navy cruiser right in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Oh Wow!” she exclaimed and again thought to herself what a super grandfather she had. She had seen the pictures of him in his sailor’s uniform and remembered the impressive photos with the big machine gun ports. She would have to remember to ask him to show her the photos again.

The Chevy station wagon neared the old man’s home.

“Grandpa look your house is right here and Luna followed us the whole way. She even got here a little ahead of us.”

Once they were in the driveway, he waited for her to get out of the car and then he took her small hand in his. The moon was indeed bright this evening. The breezes were warm.

“Grandpa, can we just look at Luna for a while?” she implored.

“Pumpkin let us do something else. OK?” he replied.

“What, what else should we do Grandpa? Should we talk to Luna?” she wanted to know.

“Nope, turn around and let Luna be at your back.” He answered.

“Grandpa, that is funny. You are the one who told me we don’t have eyes in the back of our heads.” And again, she felt quite mature.

“Look.” he said. “Look at the tops of the pines. Do you see it? The moon beams fall right along the tops of each pine. Look all around you and carefully. Can you see Luna shining on any other objects that we usually do not pay much attention to in the light of day? This is what it means to see things in a different light. It really is one of the best lessons Luna taught me.”

“I do see it, I do!” she replied. And then she told her grandfather the words he loved the most. “I love you so big.” When she said it, she held out her little arms wide to each side.

“I love you to the Moon and back” he told her.

“Grandpa, did you mean you love me to the Luna and back?” Then she smiled broadly, and the old man could barely hold all the love he had in his heart.