Red

by Mary Stack

Red is a provocative hot color.

Red lipstick suggests excitement, and I have always loved it glistening on the lips of movie stars or smeared on mirrors, but for a long time I didn't dare wear it.

Until I was 40, I didn't possess even a single red item in my wardrobe because it made me feel too self-conscious – like a "siren."

An old man had once called me this when I was 15 years old and I didn't know what it meant; when I discovered it was a sexual slur I was stung.

The pain of his insult stuck and thereafter I tried to avoid undue attention by wearing loosely fitted clothes, even though I had a shapely body, and steered well clear of red!

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If you have a story you'd like to see published here then we'd love to hear from you!

Please email the Publisher:
Nicola@CapeWomenOnline.com

"Do You Like to Read?"

by Beverly Ryle

On my nightstand is Arthur Herman's 700-page dual biography of Winston Churchill and Mahatma Gandhi. I'm almost finished with it and when I'm done I'll move on to John Matheson's new biography of Margaret Fuller, the editor of the transcendental journal, The Dial.

In the queue after Margaret is a book I've waited 8 years to hold in my hands, the fourth volume in Robert Caro's monumental biography of Lyndon Johnson.

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Where the Lighthouse
Once Stood

by Kathleen Mueller

A little red-and-white wooden post was pummeled into the dune across the road from our Cape Cod cottage, marking the spot where Nauset Lighthouse once stood.

Fifteen years ago, or thereabouts, the actual lighthouse was cautiously moved across the road some 300 feet to preserve the iconic symbol so strongly associated with Cape Cod.

The little red-and-white post popped up towards the sky, and stood just about three feet tall, peeking out through the weeds atop the dune. You could see it from our house, and you could see it from down below if standing on the beach.

It represented, to me, the place from the beach where our house was located, if only one were allowed, and strong enough, to climb over the dune instead of trudging the long half-mile back to the beach through sand, wooden stairway and blacktop.

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If Only Children Did Not Grow Up

by Saralee Perel

For parents who watch their children grow and pass countless varieties of milestones, the sentiment is both bitter and sweet. One milestone is college.

In September, many children leave home for the first time. I can't fathom how parents go through this without falling apart. I'll never forget that powerful autumn when my favorite little girl went away to college. I fell to pieces.

She was an author who was under my wing as I helped her find her path in the world of writing. I'm finally admitting to myself that she never needed me in the first place. She thought she did. I thought she did.

I cherished my role as her mentor. I loved our back and forths about this word or that. Eventually our connection touched on more topics than just writing.

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