PLACES: Where Stories Slumber
On most days, from a window seat on British Air Flight 214, Malta looks like a plate of cupcakes thick with butter-cream frosting. It sits on a silken cloth of shimmering azure and turquoise. As tray tables and seats are returned to their original and upright positions, and flight attendants conduct a final cross-check, the confectionery morphs into buildings carved from ancient limestone: palaces, castles and cathedrals. The blue silk shimmers and melts into the Mediterranean Sea. Malta is a pretty place to land on a sunny afternoon. My flight, however, was due to land at 11:50 p.m. in a torrential downpour. (from, The Maltese Pigeon — A Travel Memoir, Jessica H. Stone
“Would ya look at our girl, Dolores.” She held the door open for Helen and Edna.
They expected to find Dolores hunkered over a mountain of gravy-smothered mashed potatoes. They thought she would scoop spoons of lamb and onion stew from a wooden bowl. They assumed she would shovel Irish comfort food as fast as a rat terrier digs dirt. But she did not scoop. She did not shovel. In fact, she did not even eat. Dolores danced.
(from “Dancing the Grannie D” in The Last Outrageous Woman on Earth by Jessica H. Stone)