By Richard Dien Winfield
This booklet questions the postmodern credo that the autonomy of cause and motion is a myth, concealing our entrapment in ancient conference and protecting a logocentric domination.
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Maybe that was just an excuse then or perhaps he was working on his grandchildren now. The azalea bed in the front of the house was bursting with blooms, and Jacqueline paused to admire them. She never understood how Mrs. Garland could work all day at the café and still have time to tend to her yard. That was one thing Jacqueline remembered. No matter the time of year, something was always blooming. From the shadows of the corner of the house, Kay stood, watching Jackie as she surveyed the yard.
I see Rose hasn’t changed a bit. ” “Yes. She should have been the oldest girl in the family, not me. ” “As I recall, she tried her best to take charge of us back then. ” Kay laughed, pointing at the very tree. ” Jacqueline met her eyes. “I have a lot of fond memories of that tree,” she said quietly. “Me, too. ” Kay asked. ” Jacqueline nodded. ” They were quiet, both remembering other times that some mischief Jacqueline concocted had gotten them into trouble. Mostly from Kay’s parents, though. They hadn’t spent a whole lot of time at Jacqueline’s house.
Jacqueline hadn’t even bothered to ask who she’d married or if she had kids. Probably. She’d come from a large family. No doubt she tried to duplicate that, much as Rose had done. “Come on, come on,” she whispered, lightly tapping the steering wheel. ” She ﬁnally opened the car door and stepped into the sunshine, her eyes looking through the glass into the store, trying to ﬁnd Kay. A few customers were milling about, but none looked familiar to her. She brushed at the hair over her ears, then nervously pulled at the collar of her shirt before walking purposefully to the door, hesitating only a fraction of a second before entering.