ADAM GOLDSMITH
Stories (8/0)
Food is life
I too have a dream, with all due respect to Dr. King. I do not appropriate his words lightly. These last few years have really shined a light on some ugliness that had gone somewhat underground. The ugliness has always been there. Dare I say that the ugliness is part of our human DNA? It may be deep within us but that does not mean that we need to give voice to it. We have feet to walk, that does not mean we have to kick. We have hands to mold, that does not mean we have to hit. We have a mouth to eat, that does not mean we have to speak ill. We have eyes to see, that does not mean we have to look away.
By ADAM GOLDSMITH2 years ago in Education
The Owl
The owl I loved being on the road, always did. It gave me a chance to be alone with my thoughts, or the radio with someone else’s thoughts. Ever since I was a kid and my parents would take us somewhere, I loved taking road trips. Whether it was to a resort or relatives in another state, the thrill of the open road was for me.
By ADAM GOLDSMITH2 years ago in Fiction
The End?
April awakened to the incessant buzzing of her cell phone that lay on her nightstand. The bright light of the screen hurt her eyes as she strained to see who was calling her so late. Hello? What time is it, and this it better be good she said. There was no voice of the other end at first just the crackle of static over dead air. Like you used to hear before cell phones. She was about to hang up when she heard a man's voice speaking. April is that you? This is Bob Court, do you remember me? Of course, I do she said. Why are you calling me? It's been what, 37 years and now you call me out of the blue and wake me up? I guess I should be pleasant and ask how you're doing but frankly I'm more confused than anything. What do you want? I'm sorry April and you're right to be angry for getting woken up. I'm not quite sure what time it is. Not too late though, I don't think. I'm honestly not sure what possessed me to call you, other than I really felt like I owed you an apology for what had happened. Huh? What happened? April asked. That weekend back in 1981 when you wanted to come over and I wouldn't let you. I had met a quick fling and obviously didn't want to say anything to you about it. We spent the weekend together, but it meant nothing to me. Unfortunately, though it ended things for us, and I always felt guilty of that. You seemed to get over quite quickly though. I don't think it was two weeks before I was calling you and you wanted nothing to do with me. Found someone new very quickly and it hurt me a lot, but I know I had it coming. I realized how much I must have hurt you and I always felt guilty about that! So then after 30 some odd years you call me to alleviate your guilty feelings, Bob? Well, honestly, I really don't remember it as well as you seem to. So, let's just say then that it was obviously not a big deal, I absolve you of all your guilt. Thank you for calling, now can I go back to sleep? Yes, April thank you and again I apologize for everything. No worries Bob talk to you in another thirty years, click... The phone went dead.
By ADAM GOLDSMITH2 years ago in Confessions
Gus, the dog!
GUS Fall of 1951 started out as usual in Maryland. School was in session again and in no time flat it was nearly Halloween. October in Maryland was always perfect. It was cool enough so that you could still work up a sweat on your bike and then ward off the late afternoon chill in a flannel shirt. Then there were the cardboard UNICEF boxes to fill with pennies, nickels and dimes, if you were lucky enough from the neighbors. But the most fun of all was shucking the ears of feed corn from old lady Conroy's field (at least it was to me!) Old lady Conroy's cornfield was right behind the pond, in the back of the woods behind our house. To get there we had a choice of paths. One path would take us through the briars that protected the frog pond, and one would take us over a rock fence that I was sure remained from the Civil War. That path also led us past a giant, old, Oak tree. Every fall someone else would build onto or replace the treehouse that was built the summer before. The far edge of the pond was swampy and usually had a snake or two. We always avoided that end of the pond. The dry side of the pond would lead us to the edge of the cornfield. Summertime was usually so busy with camp and playing in the neighborhood that I don't think we ever actually saw the corn being planted or growing. It was only when it was high and dry that we noticed it at all, and then it was only in the fall that we would venture into the woods, past the pond and into the cornfield.
By ADAM GOLDSMITH2 years ago in Fiction
What's in the box?
What's in the box? Reading, Pennsylvania was an industrial town. We got off of I76 and turned East on to 422. As we rounded the big bend we could see Reading open up in the valley. My first thought on seeing the rusted hulks of old factory buildings was that once upon a time Reading had thrived; but I knew we had made a mistake. Truth be told it was me that made the mistake. Always searching for something better for my family I had thought that Reading was what I was looking for in the next step in my career. However once I laid eyes on the rust colored, and brown valley below, my heart sunk. We were moving away from Palm Beach Florida, which I can tell you were no great shakes either. If you are among the rich I guess Florida may always feel like a vacation, however for the working stiff it was more like Paradise Lost. Hot sultry mornings with the humidity at 80-90% and the temperature already at 82° at 7:30 in the morning portended another long, stinking hot day. While the humidity burned off as the sun rose it was still like working in the actual Sun. South Florida is no place to be a blue collar worker.
By ADAM GOLDSMITH3 years ago in Fiction
"Death By Chocolate"
“DEATH BY CHOCOLATE” glut·ton·y /ˈɡlətnē/ noun: gluttony 1. habitual greed or excess in eating. I blame my parents. In fact I could probably blame all parents, mothers in particular. Sorry mom's, but you are generally the de-facto eating coaches of young kids. You all know the exhortations, “finish your food there are starving children in China”, “if you don't finish your dinner you won't get any dessert”, and “don't you want to be in The Clean Plate Club”? I did! In fact I would go so far as to claim myself the president of The Clean Plate Club. I was also the apple of my grandmothers eye. What a good boy you are, you cleaned your plate again she would say. Jenny, she would say to my mother, I have never seen such a good eater. How many young boys would polish off a plate of baked salmon and Brussels sprouts? Fact of the matter is I hated Brussels sprouts, I hated Salmon, I hated Liver. In fact I pretty much hated everything, but dessert. The only reason I cleaned my plate was that it got me closer to said dessert. Now my mother happened to be an excellent baker and it showed. She was not a svelte woman, and unlike Jack Sprat, my dad could in fact eat fat, but he too preferred sugar, and my grandmother? Fuggedaboutit! She was old world European; come on bubbie just one more bite and you'll get dessert. With my grandmother a world of cakes and cookies would appear the likes of which you usually find only in the Disney movie.
By ADAM GOLDSMITH3 years ago in Feast