daily prompt

Overdose Awareness Day

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

Our recovery meeting coffeemaker had some news today: He’d consumed a fifth of vodka this weekend. My friend and I provided the needed ears, and we spoke the words that maybe we needed to hear more than he is ready to hear: “You can do it, if you want it.” I added my own insistence on being positive in the face of just about anything; because he showed up and in fact kept his word and made the coffee, I said, “Obviously you’re hearing something you feel like you need in the meetings. You keep showing up, and that’s great.”

“I love being here,” he replied, and then departed before the meeting began.
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Forever Snug

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

My current crush and I are grabbing some sun today at the same local pond I wrote about last week in “Forever Snug“:

Yesterday was one of those days in which the lifeguards outnumbered the swimmers. We were at a local park that features a small lake and beach; busy late August life kept the crowds away even on a sunny Saturday afternoon, so we were one couple out of maybe ten groups. Two families, each with three water-loving toddlers, splashed about, and none of the children were yet old enough to test their limits against the flimsy, algae-covered nylon rope demarcating the “deep end” on three sides. The lifeguards chatted with the families, flirted with each other, bought each other ice cream, and burned off the calories breaking each others’ speed records chasing after the ice cream truck.
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In-Flight Reading

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

I never looked for his book online or in a bookstore. He showed it to me, or he showed me a galley proof of it. And now, a decade later, I do not remember his name or much about the book.

We were on a plane, and 98% of my personal air travel history dates from the years 2000 to 2004, when I moved from upstate New York to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and twice a year I returned home for holiday visits. The typical route was Eastern Iowa Airport to Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport to Stewart International Airport (or sometimes Logan in Boston), because there are no direct flights between Iowa and anyplace else I have ever lived. The book author was across the aisle from me.
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