Privacy fences are against the rules? But what about the nude hot-tubbing?

Oh. Did I say that out loud? I was in the moment. Well done, Ice.

Rubber kisses runway with a bark and the brakes slam on, engines reverse. The PA crackles and the easy, almost-bored voice says we're on time, and thanks for flying with us. We stand and step into the aisle, hauling bags and coats from overhead storage and straggle, half-steps forward. Thank fates and little fishes there's a gate, no down stairs, hiking across tarmac to more stairs, and then acres of concourse to cover. Gates are so civilized, when my knees hate stairs. And there, at the end of the concourse, with a mile-wide smile and arms outstretched, is our welcome.

oh, Beverly - lovely!

Privacy fences are against the rules? But what about the nude hot-tubbing?

Wow. Kind of a good news/bad news thing happening in my brain right now; you've got me picturing my neighbors nude.

I'm going to have to re-read just the drabble part of your post so I can walk away with a warm, fuzzy feeling. You made me think of flying home from college and having my mom meet me at the gate. Now I have to go call my mom.

I got the revised chapter 16 done last night. Chapter 17 is getting close, I added something new and hopefully interesting to that chapter.

I've got a lot of 18 in my head, I just need time to write it down. Chapter 18 will be one of those brand new ones.

Okay, my welcome drabble.

The lights are down, black and white images flickering into focus, music playing as small bubbles drift across the screen. As the stentorian voice announces that tonight's program will be brought to us by Geritol, the world's leading tonic, the lights rise to reveal the orchestra, all natty suits and gleaming instruments, perfectly Brylcreemed hair shining under the lights. We sit at tray tables, the foil peeled away from the Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes as their leader turns to us and intones in his uniquely-inflected voice, "Greetings, and what a lovely welcome."

Yes. Welcome to Anywhere, U.S.A. on a long-ago Saturday night.

Oh, Barb.

Yeah, I watched Welk far too long with my folks. I think they were completely shellshocked when their biddable girl turned into a rough-edged goth chick overnight.

Oh, that was a Norwegian accent? I've always wondered.

Two birds with one stone, drabble and roughly the start of chapter 18.

Rainier knew she would be there, he tasted her presence the moment he slipped into the Dream. The sound of roaring water came to him just as he expected, he always found her at the falls. She stood there in a wispy blue dress that gave her willowy figure an ethereal quality. Pale blond hair spilled down her back, she still wore it long. The tumbling water entranced her nearly as much as she entranced him.

"Corina"

She turned toward him and smiled. "Rainier, I thought I felt you in the Dream. How is my favorite cousin?"

The smile masked something. Her brown eyes looked tired, the shadows under them pronounced. As she spoke her gaze darted between him and slightly to his right, not keeping steady contact. For a fraction of a second he hoped some calamity had befallen her husband, but her distress came short of that happy possibility.

Oh, that was a Norwegian accent? I've always wondered.

Actually, I goobered, based on an assumption. I knew he was from North Dakota and somewhere in my memory banks, I had it in my head that he was of Norwegian or at least, some sort of Scandinavian descent. However, he was actually of German descent, his family coming from Alsace-Lorraine by way of Odessa, Ukraine. So his accent was actually a mutt of German and Russian.

Oooh, lovely, all! So fun to see so many people contributing and so many different perspectives on just one word. This is why I love drabbling.