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May 30, 2017





There was to be a Soft Crab Festival (woot-woot) at Crisfield MD over Memorial Day Weekend. Said the Husband, “what better excuse for a short getaway.”


Came Saturday morning and we took a stroll down to the Town Docks. As the HTOH (aka Head of The Household or husband) munched away on this strange delicacy favored by Marylanders and even some foreigners, I did my best to avert the gaze from this most gruesome sight of people walking around with hamburger buns but a crab instead of a hamburger stuck in the center. Crab legs flailed flaccidly on each side of the bun and as human jaws clamped down in the middle, the legs would show signs of a not so far distant past life as they rose slightly in one final protest before disappearing into the mystery that is the human digestive system…..


Needless to say, I do not eat crab. Neither hard shell nor soft shell. Pink, blue, black or grey.


I left the masses to their feast and strolled further to the pavilion and the wooden benches near the water. She sat by herself, baggy grey sweatpants, white “once-upon-a-time” shapeless T-shirt, frumpy little khaki cotton hat, milky eyes a start contrast to a coffee-brown skin, hands folded listlessly in her lap.


I walked over and said, “You look as if you need a hug.” Cloudy eyes focused on me, scrawny old arms reached out, the tears came and she said, “I do, I do. I miss my son so, he would always come and visit on Memorial Day Weekend and he won’t come this year. He died a year ago.”

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