by Mary Ann McGrath
"Mom called - she wants her micromanaging skills back!" my brother quipped as he playfully swatted my hand off the kitchen timer and shooed me away from the stove where I had been meddling in his pot of beans. My brother's remonstrance echoed in my mind throughout the weekend. Me? Micromanager? Like Mom?!? I flipped through my rolodex of memories ready to acquit myself, but my examine only verified his accusation. It's true. I am a micromanager.

Rating: 4.3/5

by Mary Ann McGrath
Perpendicular to the row of townhouses in which I live, is a large cemetery. Green, peaceful, and quiet, it reminds me daily to pray for the souls in purgatory. Across the street from me is a thick row of pine trees and some property that belongs to the cemetery. It is anything but peaceful and quiet in the early mornings.

Rating: 5.0/5

by Mary Ann McGrath
Rouge red was at the tip of my brush. Very carefully I applied the paint to the board using slow, small, circular strokes and exhaled. "This red cloak is coming along well." I tapped the brush in the jar of water and brought it back to the board to repeat those calm circular strokes. "NO! AHH!" I panicked as red paint bled across the line of the cloak and oozed into the flesh toned face and neck.

Rating: 5.0/5

"My transmission what?" I curtly asked the mechanic over the phone. "You might need a new one, Miss McGrath. But we're going to clean the valve first; that might fix the problem. But I suggest that you replace the transmission regardless." I authorized his proposal to clean the valve; hung up; and muttered a profanity as I slipped my cell into my pursue. "What's wrong?" exclaimed my roommate. I related the bad news and groaned. This was not exactly what I wanted to hear while en route to Virginia Beach to drink in Vitamin D.

Rating: 5.0/5