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Confessions of a Computer Junkie

Donal Buchanan

© 2015 by Donal Buchanan

Photo of a computer mouse chained up.

I’d been wanting a computer for over thirty years. It wasn’t something I talked about or was consciously aware of, but the desire was there. I remember, back in the 1940s, seeing those ads in Astounding Science Fiction (long before it became Analog): “Own your own computer! Only $19.95!” (or something along that line). I drooled, but I never bit. I figured that all I’d get for that price was some kind of mechanical hand-calculator when I wanted UNIVAC ! Like many another poor soul, I subdued my dream and decided to live in the real world....



A French Connection

Akber Ayub 

© Copyright 2015 by Akber Ayub 

Photo of Via  Pondicherry.

From the sunlit patio of a beachfront café Pierre Stuyvesant squinted with ice blue eyes at the shimmering Bay of Bengal in between leisurely sips of coffee. The boundless blue-green of the sea and the brilliant October sunshine combined to cast a sanguine spell on the long arrow of Gourbet Avenue that skirted the sea. Stuyvesant, on his annual visit from Paris, relaxed, soaking in the ambience—just as his predecessors did more than three centuries ago.

French settlers first arrived in Pondicherry, Southern India in 1674. Soon they established a trading port and, dictated by the volatile conditions of the day, built a fort here and later as their settlement expanded, fortified the entire town—a bulwark against Dutch and English invaders with whom they fought pitched battles on number of occasions. Amazingly, those street plans created and reconstructed by the French after the ravages of the three intervening British rules remain almost the same even today. French dreams of an Indian empire might have begun and ended at Pondicherry, but the remnants of their rule, spanning four centuries till 1954, remain to this day—more vividly than the vestiges of British rule scattered over the rest of India....


Ode to a River

Akber Ayub 


© Copyright 2015 by Akber Ayub

Photo of the Chalakudi River.

The birds are on a high and the air is filled with their toot and tootle. Underneath, the gurgling river tries to keep pace. A willowy breeze sweeping through the bamboo groves rustles its crisp, spiky leaves, adding to the medley. The resulting symphony is magical.

Some 75 km northwest of Kochi – Kerala‘s bustling seaport in Southern India – lies the trading town of Chalakudy. And a short 5 km away flows the river that carries its name. Go another few km and you are at the Athirampally falls. Here, water gushes over a large rocky knoll in white, effervescent waves. As you get closer, you feel the wetness; then you are surrounded by a fine mist, cool and bracing against your skin.

If you are a nature lover, be here at the break of dawn – and give yourself up to the magic in the air. You’ll find yourself being led downstream, as if by an unseen force, to an enchanting spot where, the river seems to bare its soul....


I Am Unbroken 

Andrew Kuzyk

© Copyright 2015 by Andrew Kuzyk 


Cancer cells under an electron microscope.

Battling cancer has changed my life. It's safe to say that I would not be the person I am today without undergoing this beast. There isn't a day that goes by that I do not think about cancer and how fortunate I am to still be here. Today, I am driven by the strength I had to fight and survive cancer 5 times and provide inspiration for all those fighting now. Inspired from my own intense journey and other cancer warriors, I am continuing to fight the good fight.


Pounders Beach, 1968  

Kirby Wright


© Copyright 2015 by Kirby Wright


I sat on the floral-print couch between my big brother, Barry, and our mother. We were waiting for Dadio to get home. Nobody talked. Barry gnashed his gum and blew a bubble. We were both in eighth grade because he’d been held back. I looked at the reflection on the glass door in the living room—we all looked worried. It was as if we were waiting for the judge to hurl a guilty verdict. I looked strange sitting between two blonds, as if I belonged to another family with my dark hair and eyes. The only times I felt connected to them was when my father was in the house, since I took after him in looks. Barry ached for his attention. I’d always wondered if my brother resented me for looking like Dadio, especially after our Moloka’i grandmother said, “Mistah Kirby’s da spittin’ image of his fathah....”


Deer Hunting Tales 

Deer hunting in Michigan’s Lower Peninsula             

Richard Franklin Bishop   

© Copyright 2015 by Richard Franklin  Bishop      

Photo of a buck deer in the snow.

I was raised in Michigan where it was, as the old French-Canadian Trappers would say in neighboring Québec, Canada, de rigueur (obligatory) to go Deer hunting as soon as you were old enough to get a license and big enough to “tote” a large caliber rifle or a shotgun for that purpose....

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