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Mars: Dreams, Predictions, and Reality
Svetlana Zernes
©
Copyright 2018 by Svetlana Zernes
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For centuries,
people created their ideas and visions about Mars. Some predictions
finally came true, even more did not.
Let’s take a look at the
accuracy of famous (and infamous) historical ideas about the Red
Planet. . . .
Grandma's Stories
Tupa's Indian Stories and Me
Shelley Marichal
©
Copyright 2018 by Shelley Marichal
|
Francois Suprenault and Sophie Stinweskit., Shelley's great grandparents. |
. . . .My
grandmother was a product of Okanagan and Blackfoot Indian and French
background. The wisdom passed on to her from her parents and
grandparents transcends time and brings new meaning to my life as I
continue to grow and experience the world around me with my own
family.
As
a child, I used to love to sit and listen to the stories of the past
that my grandmother would pass on to me. To my knowledge they have
never been written down and have been stored away in my memory of
treasures. Whether they are 100% truth, I don’t know and it
isn’t important to me. I often reflect back and realize that
sometimes she had a glint in her eye with a smile breaking through
under her story telling. I am sure that she elaborated on certain
details just to see me squirm. . . .
More...
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Fluorosis the Mystery Disease
Kavitha Yarlagadda
©
Copyright 2018 by Kavitha Yarlagadda
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A
quiet village, people going around their daily chores in a mundane
way, all seems well, but as you go further into the village, we come
across young children limping around, a crippled man dragging himself
on the ground to move around and a stooped woman going about her
work, this is the sight that greets us, as we enter Cherlapally, in
Nalgonda District, a small village hardly 100 km from the famous city
of Hyderabad, with around 1050 families. Around 50% of the people of
this village are suffering from Fluorosis of both types dental and
skeletal fluorosis. . . .
When Round Trip Becomes One Way
Victoria Blakey
©
Copyright 2018 by Victoria Blakey
|
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I was so excited but
wondered how I’d fare on the long flight and road trip to my
destination in Gambia, West Africa. My right leg still ached from a
torn hamstring and sitting for such a long time surely would irritate
it I thought. I planned this six-week vacation for a time to relax,
explore and heal. What I wasn’t excited about was the tedious
journey to get to my destination. My route included a two-hour flight
to New York, a seven and one-half hour flight to Dakar, Senegal, West
Africa, and over an eight-hour road trip to reach Gambia. . . .
Your Roots Are Showing
Amie McGraham
©
Copyright 2018 by Amie McGraham
|
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This
story goes beyond a typical cross-country road trip travelogue; it’s
a deep exploration into the soul of a family caregiver. I wrote
snippets of the trip as I drove across country, eventually ending up
at my childhood home to care for my mother with Alzheimer’s. It
took time and courage to piece it together, and like most of my
writing lately, the words are woven together by the inescapable
thread of dementia. . . .
A Delicate Balance
Sara Etgen-Baker
©
Copyright 2018 by Sara Etgen-Baker
|
|
This
is a true account of the move my husband and I made
from my native North Texas to the Chihuahan Desert near El Paso,
Texas. Although I agreed to support my husband in relocating, I was
bitter and resentful and wanted to turn back. But within hours of
our arrival, the dusty terrain and simple landscape of the Chihuahan
Desert taught me an invaluable lesson. . . .
The Stranger in the Box
Sara Etgen-Baker
©
Copyright 2018 by Sara Etgen-Baker
|
|
This
is
a true account of my experience years ago
when I was given the key to my grandmother’s attic. I set about
exploring her attic, curious about my family. I was not disappointed
for her attic was a treasure trove waiting to be explored.
I
approached the
door leading into my grandmother’s attic. Using her skeleton
key, I turned the lock; opened the door; and stepped inside, the
floor creaking beneath my feet. I fumbled my way across the dimly-lit
attic toward a nearby dormer window and wiped the grime from it,
letting the morning light stream in. . . .
The Phone Call
Cheryl Ferguson Bernini
©
Copyright 2018 by Cheryl
Ferguson Bernini
|
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My
mom, Anne, was diagnosed with a rare heart condition when I was 15
and a sophomore in high school. Due to this illness, she was always
speaking with a doctor or laboratory. What you are about to
experience is one of those conversations. As you can see from the
picture, my mom was a genuinely fun-loving woman, and we had a great
time together while she was here. . . .
An Evening of Unfortunate Events
Karina Kamran
©
Copyright 2018 by Karina Kamran
|
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In a big white house on a quiet
street, a pen furiously attacks each blank page. Wielded by a magician
on the rampage, her stories must be told and their magic needs to be
spread. Smiling as she weaves another tale, her desire for caffeine is
real and her stomach’s demands for pizza ought to be met. . . .
The Hill
Bill Cox
©
Copyright 2018 by Bill Cox
|
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I
was born in
Aberdeen, a busy Scottish city that sits on the coast of the North
Sea. After some youthful travels I returned there and now live with
my partner Hilary in a cottage on the edge of the city. Our home is
surrounded by crop fields where wheat is grown for the whisky
industry, but on the edge of our small horizon we can see the housing
estates of the city’s Bridge of Don suburb. In reality there
are only three fields between us and suburbia and I have no doubt
that one day the housing estates will come out to meet us. There’s
a certain inevitability to it, like a rising tide.
For
now though, we live in the countryside and not the city. Our
surroundings are given over to farming, but five minutes walk from my
front door is a small hill that has, over the years, become our own
little nature reserve. We call it the hill, but it barely registers
on an Ordinance Survey map. However, its contours are such that
putting it to crop is more trouble than its worth, so it is left as a
small piece of wild land surrounded by industrially farmed fields. . . .
More...
The Eagle Lesson
Judith Nakken
©
Copyright 2018 by Judith Nakken
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What
did I know from bald eagles? The national bird, right? Had I ever
seen one? Geez. While Nancy stood there waiting for my answer, I
searched my mind through a whole disastrous train trip from Whittier
to the San Diego Zoo during the mid-60’s with another woman,
five kids under ten, and a hellacious hangover. (And the bus ride
back, straight through the Watts Riot, thanks to my bleary-eyed
reading of the train schedule. But, that’s a story for another
time.) Monkeys, giraffes, foxes, snakes bounced to and fro in my
memory banks … no eagles. . . .
More...
Roaring Into Bulawayo's Royal Treat
Ndaba Sibanda
©
Copyright 2018 by Ndaba Sibanda
|
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It
was an inspiringly cool August afternoon when the Boeing 767 carrying
Ahmed landed majestically in the center of the Joshua Mqabuko Nkomo
International Airport runway, 25 km to the north of Bulawayo. That
Friday I was glad that Ahmed, my former student from Kuwait, had
finally arrived in Bulawayo. After exchanging some warm and excited
greetings, he remarked,” “Beautiful airport. I like it!”
I smiled, “Though small in size, it is our gateway to such
amazing world heritage sites as the Khami Ruins and the Matobo
Hills”. . . .
Goodbyes, Anticipated and
Unanticipated
Paul Dominic
©
Copyright 2018 by Paul Dominic
|
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. . .“Is
your mother alive?” The question invariably came up when an
individual or group interacted with me personally. For years it
brought me certain pain. So I would answer simply yes, though with
an obvious reluctance. As years passed I learnt to give another
answer, more comfortably. I remember one occasion in the opening
exchange with 30-odd retreatants at Shillong, India. A British
Sister, the Principal of their College, asked me, “Are your
parents alive?” I answered, “Yes, alive, fully alive.” I noticed that
she looked puzzled, as also many others! So I
repeated, “They’re alive… yes, fully alive in
Heaven!” That was more than satisfactory, if surprising, to my
audience; it elicited their spontaneous smile! . . .
Maggie
Elana Renata
©
Copyright 2018 by
|
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I
became enraptured with raptors such as Red Tail Hawks, Great Horned
Owls, Peregrine Falcons, and Bald Eagles when I started working at
the veterinary clinic at the University of Minnesota.
Henry
and I met through Maggie, the first year Red-Tail
Hawk. She
sat proudly on his wrist at the Midwest Falconer’s Meeting held
at The Raptor Center. A dark morph, red plumage
tinged
with gold, she flapped her wings and stamped her talons impatiently
on Henry’s fist. . . .
More...
The Hatchet Man Cometh
Joe DiMiceli
©
Copyright 2018 by Joe DiMiceli
|
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You’ve probably
read or heard a gazillion first person stories by alcoholics or their
families describing the heartbreak of addiction. But have you ever
seen a narrative from the employer’s (or his agent’s)
point of view? I worked for the New York office of the Federal
Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) from 1978 to 1985. My title was
Administrative Officer, but my work was closer to Human Resources
Officer, hiring, firing, discipline and training and I want to relate
my experiences counselling alcoholics, but first we need some
background. . . .
Tongues
Virginia Strickland
©
Copyright 2018 by Virginia Strickland
|
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A shadow began dancing
towards my bench. Every night I sit on this bench and wait for
someone to show up. Well, two people to show up. They are different
every night. There is no way that the same people could be reused.
The shadow seemed to be swaying back and forth with its arms moving
to and fro. Its owner came shortly after, walking away from the
streetlight. There was my second person. . . .
Pol
Claire Frances Maley
©
Copyright 2018 by Claire Frances Maley
|
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Timely
ripped from her Mother’s womb, Pol entered the world one snowy
November morning. She nearly killed her Mother. “What a
bruiser! She’ll play Hockey for England.” The nurse said.
As
soon as Pol could stand, she pulled open the net curtain and waved
Dad off to work. He’d laugh, wave and blow kisses back. She
continued to wave until long after he’d driven out of sight.
Upon returning home, Pol waited on him, cooking him an imaginary
feast in her plastic, toy kitchen.
At
three and a half, Pol craned her neck and stepped on the hospital
wall pipes beside the glass crib to meet her newly born brother. Why
was Mother speaking to this white, wriggling, strange creature with
unusual tenderness? Why did he have an orange cast where hair was
meant to be? “Your brother is going to have red hair like your
great grandfather,” said Dad ruffling Pol’s blond curls.
With his face scrunched, her brother let out an almighty squeal. . . .
On Coping
Carolina Williams
©
Copyright 2018 by Carolina Williams
|
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If
ever there was something easier said than done, it was being a kid.
Adults wearing stiff blazers recline in their brown leather office
chairs and welcome any wave of nostalgia that takes them back to
childhood, when they were carefree and overflowing with enthusiasm
for weeds that resembled flowers and dreams that were mistaken for
reality. But, unknowingly, they now view childhood through a lens of
sentimentality —
an excessive fondness and tenderness that masks the physical
struggles and emotional pitfalls that frequently explode in the day
to day life of a kid. . . .
The Snowdon Panther
Rachael Bates
©
Copyright 2018 by Rachael Bates
|
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Not
many people grow up with a pet bison. We called ours Burt. The locals
were always telling us about bison aggression towards humans, but
Burt, enormous-hairy-Burt, seemed content to watch us from the forest
behind the backyard fence. He visited us a few times a week and we
grew rather fond of him, learning to recognize him by a chunk of
flesh missing from one of his ears. On occasion he snuck into my
mother’s vegetable garden and created havoc with his hooves, or
tore up our lawn with his eager grazing. Other than that, he was a
welcome addition to our bevy of animals, which included horses and
ponies, dogs and cats, chickens, and the occasional baby bird. In all
my time living in Ooty, a town perched high in the mountains of South
India, Burt was perhaps the largest bison I ever saw. . . .
More...
Peace
Chris Smith
©
Copyright 2018 by Chris Smith
|
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One
of the meanings of peace is, freedom from turmoil and war. One of the
definitions of turmoil is, a confused or agitated state. Furthermore,
peace is freedom, which is to be released and set free from turmoil,
confusion, agitation, hostility, and conflict. . . .
A Ladybird
Laura Labno
©
Copyright 2018 by Laura Labno
|
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I
was sitting on a park bench. It was a warm and pleasant day. It was
early in the evening and the setting sun was still gently hitting my
back. I could smell all the good things one could smell during such a
day; the fresh evening air, green grass and spring flowers. Yes, it
was a good day, a beautiful day indeed but I wasn't able to apprecite
it. My head was filled with thoughts that were dark and gloomy and
even the brigteness of the sun wasn't able to overcome their depth. I
was holding my notebook in my hands and all I wanted was to express
all these things. . . .
The Best Word
Sharon Hodson
©
Copyright 2018 by Sharon Hodson
|
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I’ve worn many
hats in my almost 58 years on this earth. I’ve been a daughter
and a granddaughter. I’m still a niece and a cousin. I’m
a sister, an aunt, a great-aunt. I’m a friend and a
co-worker. I’m a mom. I’m a
grandmother.
My
favourite season
has always been fall. Fall is beautiful and colourful. Where I live
here in Edmonton, Canada, the weather in September, even
October, can be wonderfully warm. Sometimes it’s
even hot (well, hot for Edmonton, Canada - in fall) in early to
mid-September.
Almost
58 years old
- could be considered the ‘fall’ of life, or at least
late summer. It feels like it to me - beautiful,
colourful
and warm. This is the story of how I came to cherish this part of my
life. . . .
The Illusion of Inspiration
Erin Darby
Gesell
©
Copyright 2018 by Erin Darby Gesell
|
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I am a
runner. In the physical sense—I train for and compete in ultra
distance races on the regular, and I wish it were socially acceptable
to run everywhere I go rather than walk—and in a less literal
sense in that I need to skip town as frequently as possible.
In an
emotionally complex chain of events that I am only just now beginning
to realize, contradictory to everything I am, I bought a house five
years ago. I think that this decision was an attempt to anchor
myself. I did it in my way—white girl from small town Nebraska
buys a beautiful old house in North Omaha, a predominately black
neighborhood, alone. In committing myself to that house, to Omaha, to
Nebraska, places I was so desperately escaping each weekend, I lived
in total rebellion with myself. . . .
Travel with my Father
Winston C.
Pagador
©
Copyright 2018 by Winston C. Pagador
|
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I
wanted to see travels through my father’s perspective, and
perhaps to discover something new.
Seated
in the window, I found him staring the vast Malay Peninsula that lay
spread beneath us, his eyes taking in the small dotted islands that
seemed swimming against the blue ocean and then buildings, roads and
houses visible as the aircraft decreased altitude, readying its final
descent. ‘How is it possible that at six in the evening, the
sky is still bright enough here?’ said my father. His face
beamed with excitement and disbelief. . . .
Too Close to a Rhinoceros
Josephine Jones
©
Copyright 2018 by Josephine Jones
|
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Georgina had asked me, while we were
sunbathing on the beach, if I would make
a foursome, with Bob a friend of Frank's and herself for a weekend in
a game park. It was soon after Frank and Georgina had met, at a hotel
dance. He joked that he had picked her up. Then he
had asked
her out for a day trip. As a good friend, she replied that she had
arranged to meet me, he suggested I went along and he would bring his
friend. He and Frank were working as electricians in the Matchbox
Company. The outing had gone very well. Frank was tall, dark and good
looking but Bob was shorter than Georgina who was shorter than me.
I was five foot five and a half. . . .
In The Steps Of Ernest Hemingway
Josephine Jones
©
Copyright 2018 by Josephine Jones
|
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I
wanted to go to Cuba because it has an interesting history, from the
overthrow of Spanish rule and slavery to a communist state which
allowed Catholicism and now permits private enterprise and encourages
tourism.
Next
I tried to get books written by Ernest Hemingway from the Library.
The only one I could find was Islands
in the Sea,
set around
islands off Cuba.
Then
I looked on the net and found several of his books for £8 inclusive,
from the Book People. I had already read The Sun
Also Rises,
a novel
about Italy in the Second World War. I also enjoyed For
whom the Bell Tolls,
about the Spanish Civil War. Both had been made into films which I
had seen.
So
a trip to his house and the bars where he drank was a must for things
to do in Cuba. And now I was thrilled to be actually in Cuba after I
had read so much about it. . . .
Gay Young Couple In Alice Springs
Josephine Jones
©
Copyright 2018 by Josephine Jones
|
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That was the
headline in The Centralian Advocate on Thursday 28th August 1969.
Of
course, Gay did not mean then what it does now. Earlier that year July
Neil Armstrong had set foot on the moon. Television had not yet
reached the outback of Australia so we had seen a film of the
landing in the Memorial Hall. This film had been provided by the
Americans from the nearby secret Space Base which everyone knew
about.
The week before there was great excitement
in Alice Springs, Australia. The Duke and
Duchess of Kent were coming on an official visit from England. . . .
The Defector
Rod Martinez
©
Copyright 2018 by Rod Martinez
|
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This
is the true story about my mother-in-law. It follows the story of a shy
teenager from a small town in Cuba who defected to the USA via
missionary work. Should this timid island native never have had the
guts to make such a brave move, I would have never met my wife. . . .
Create it Away
Katie Danis
©
Copyright 2018 by Katie Danis
|
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"Create
it Away" explores my lifelong experience with Tourette Syndrome.
It focuses on how the condition intertwines with my memories of
childhood, approaching a frequently misunderstood topic with humor
and hope.
The
first time I got my leg stuck in a broken drainpipe, I was naked. As
my preschool teacher dismantled the pipe to free my entrapped (and
freshly nude) limb, a new crease crept from her cheek to her chin.
She was twenty-five and had eight wrinkles. When school began she had
zero. (In my defense, I held direct responsibility for only seven,
and I contest the validity of the evidence that charged me with
three.). . .
Lone Wolf
Ellen Gunnarsdottir
©
Copyright 2018 by Ellen Gunnarsdottir
|
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In
the early eighties, when I was a teen, my grandfather gave me a
summer job as a receptionist at his Reykjavik eye clinic. The clinic
was on a street that runs from the pond to the harbour below the hill
where ugly timber houses built by Danish merchants cast an oppressive
pall over this wide space continually swept by the north wind from
the Esja mountain. My grandfather’s clinic consisted of four
rooms that ran along the length of a dark building, a lonely place
where I never saw any other inhabitants on the staircase. The rooms
were carpeted and the window openings were broken. They had their
particular smell of disinfectant mixed with old textiles, dirty shoes
and sweaty bodies wrapped in coats. . . .
Leaving
Dina Toyoda
©
Copyright 2018 by Dina Toyoda
|
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The street was endless.
It seemed like it's been hours since we boarded a Paratransit taxi in
front of the hospital in San Francisco, where my mom, finally, heard
her diagnosis.
All along we suspected
the worst, but it didn't stop me dragging her from one doctor to
another. It took them months to come up with the verdict.
Afterwards, as we
waited for our ride, a small group of would be passengers gathered at
the curb. Paratransit cost almost nothing, but it was a shared
ride, and we'll have to wait for the driver to drop everyone off
at different locations. When the taxi arrived, it was a smallish sedan, and all four of us had to fit in. . . .
More...
I Write This For You
Krystal Song
©
Copyright 2018 by Krystal Song
|
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There
are
so many words she will never say to him.
Ziyin was
sixteen years old when she met Zhao Heng. Her roommate Cao Jie
twisted her ankle, so Ziyin went alone to the classical music concert
they had planned to attend together.
It was her
first time stepping foot in Jiao Tong University. The campus was much
larger than her own, and Ziyin soon found herself lost. She paused,
then approached the security guard by the gate. . . .
Of
Rainy Days, Library School, Guide Dogs, and Police Cars
David Faucheux
©
Copyright 2018 by David Faucheux
|
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Thursday,
July 31, 2014
Café Des Amis
Janet,
a friend, came to pick me up for lunch. We met our friend Sarah at
Café Des Amis in Breaux Bridge. En route, I gave Janet the
book China Dolls, by Lisa See. She may read it quickly or return it
to the library and check it out under her own name. As noted earlier,
Ms. Lydia brought it to me last week. I thought that Janet, who is of
part Asian extraction, would enjoy this story of three Asian girls in
San Francisco just before and during World War II. She has mentioned
enjoying books by this author.
I
enjoyed my alligator sausage and savory cheesecake with crawfish
cream sauce. I even shared it out and got to taste Janet’s
fried eggplant with crawfish topping and Sarah’s grilled crab
cakes. The white chocolate bread pudding was good. The outing was
sort of a pre–birthday lunch for me. It was so thoughtful of
them to ask me where I’d like to go. . . .
More...
The Push
Margaret Ann
Gordon Valenta
©
Copyright 2018 by Margaret Valenta
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. . . .When it
comes to my sense of direction I’m at a loss. When I should
turn right, I am positive I should turn left. Noticing the houses
were getting scarce, and little or no traffic, I soon realized I was
lost. (In 1955 we had no cell phones so we had no way of contacting
anyone in an emergency.) Coming upon a car stopped in the road, with
the driver standing outside his car, I pulled up behind him, got out,
told him I was lost, and asked for directions.
He
smiled and said, “I’m Bill Potter. I need a push to get
my car started. My battery won’t turn the engine over. If you
will give me a push, then you can follow me to where you need to go.”. . .
More...
A Long Look Back
R. G. Kaimal
©
Copyright 2018 by R. G. Kaimal
|
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‘A
Long
Look Back’ is a reminiscence of my growing-up process. It deals
with the challenges & joys that confronted me in this process.
I
had a rather colorful childhood but a challenging boyhood. By the
time I was into manhood things had settled down as can be deduced
from the story. . . .
Words
That Soak Into Your Soul
Carrie Scarborough Kinnard
©
Copyright 2018 by Carrie
Scarborough Kinnard
|
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Words that soak into your
soul, are whispered…not yelled.
Ever wanted to feel not
good enough?
Ever hoped to live with
someone who thinks they know more than you ever will?
Ever had the desire to
sense you’re just really not that smart?
Ever wanted to pray so
much you were certain God was beginning to tune you out like a
staticky radio station?
Then, if you’re
single, I suggest you go out and find yourself a man with a teenage
daughter.
And then you marry him. . . .
Butch
Don Hoover
©
Copyright 2018 by Don Hoover
|
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There
used to be an old one-eyed dog who followed me about,
Every
morning and every afternoon as I walked my paper route.
I
didn’t know where he came from, and I didn’t know his
name.
We
didn’t trust each other much, but he followed just the same.
He
had a gimpy right back leg, which he favored all the time,
But
he still looked rough and dangerous, though perhaps well past his
prime.
He
never got close enough to pet and that was fine, you see,
Cause
I was a little bit scared of him, and he wasn’t sure of me. . . .
Round the Way: Inheritance
Jasmine Hill
©
Copyright 2018 by Jasmine Hill
|
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My
mom, four siblings, and I lived in a rust colored brick apartment
complex in a neighborhood sandwiched between Shreveport Regional
Airport, where those with enough resources could flee, and Fair Park
High School, where those with none could learn how. This middle
ground was known as Greenwood Terrace to those in passing, GT to
those with no plans to leave, and the hood to everyone in between. . . .
The House Guest
Celi Azulek
©
Copyright 2018 by Celi Azulek
|
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I
don’t know whether it’s just me, but most years I seem to
come across three or four animals or birds that require some form of
helping hand and they will often spend several weeks with me, as they
get back onto their feet. The heroine of this story, The House Guest,
was one of these unexpected waifs . . . .
More...
The Bus to Urgup
Robert Walton
©
Copyright 2018 by Robert Walton
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Photo by Jon Walton.
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Shaky and
weak, I stood atop a sandy ridge called Sunset Point. Some Turkish
bug still prowled the far corners of my body. My theory that
consuming liberal daily rations of Raki in Istanbul would immunize me
from such maladies proved to be wrong. My sons stirred beside me. I
took a deep breath and pondered both my own condition and our
immediate future. Bouncy and chatty, the boys (Jeremy's twenty-nine
and Jon's twenty-four) were boys again, excited by our coming
adventure. I had doubts, not the least of which was my unhappy
tummy. Still, one of the great joys of fatherhood is to do things
with your kids. We were undeniably about to do something together. Six
miles away in the blue distance we could see our destination,
Goremé, a small town in central Anatolia. . . .
More...
A Bear for Lunch
Robert Walton
©
Copyright 2018 by Robert Walton
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Kids
learn best from doing and watching their elders do, so early on in
fatherhood I sought help in teaching my sons: the Sierra Nevada
Mountains. Camping entails shared work, shared hardship, shared fun,
shared adventure – and shared secrets. You inevitably end up
in situations of which mothers would not approve. . . .
Twenty Years
Paul Fleckney
©
Copyright 2018 by Paul Fleckney
|
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There's so much life in a cemetery in spring. The
one I
use, West Norwood, is one of those old Victorian ones where nature is
in charge. There is a caretaker, who discreetly rides the pathways,
tending to the excesses, always just out of sight. But he's not the
boss around here. Not in late April. Up in the branches, squirrels
scoot from one tree to the next, clutching some fresh prize. Down in
the deep green grass, bluebells have broken out in enthusiastic
patches. In among the bluebells are some tiny white flowers that look
like snowdrops, but aren't. Mum would know what they are. . . .
The Value of Patience and Good Judgment
Xiaochen Su
©
Copyright 2018 by Xiaochen Su
|
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Being
on the road, travelers often come across situations where their own
decision-making can very much change the direction of their entire
travels. And when the wrong decision is taken, the cost can be
unbelievably high in monetary terms, not to mention damages to
self-confidence. But it is those wrong decisions that tend to be,
ultimately, the most memorable ones. The wrong decisions, by the pure
"virtue" of their being incredibly bad decisions, lead to
the greatest adventures. In the end, with much more spending than
expected, travelers have to realize where is that fine line between
"adventure at all costs" and "sound financing while on
the road." . . .
More...
Chocolate-Covered Nut
Terri W. Jackson
©
Copyright 2018 by Terri W. JacksonX
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You
never realize how many lives are touched by the testimony that you
share in an autobiography. I am sharing my story because it is my
hope that bondages will be broken and people will be freed from a
life of despair and their own veil of madness which haunts them
daily. I once lived a life without hope. God led me straight to where
I needed to be for my life to change dramatically, at just the right
time. Somehow, when life seemed impossible, and I wanted to give up,
He sent a life boat to rescue me. God truly “never leaves me,
nor forsakes me” and has proven that, time and time again. He
is a Waymaker, a Promise Keeper. This is a personal account of His
faithfulness. . . .
Redemption and Dollywood
Melissa Ann
Sweat
©
Copyright 2018 by Melissa Ann Sweat
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My
essay describes my first
trip to Dollywood and the surrounding Smoky Mountain
region, while reclaiming my own creative spirit and musical ambitions
through the living legend that is Dolly Parton.
After
leaving Asheville in the first part of my trip, I headed west on I-40
to my next destination: Pigeon Forge, TN for a long-awaited
pilgrimage to — you guessed it — Dollywood. I’d
always enjoyed Dolly Parton’s music and persona as an
entertainer growing up, but I became more obsessed with Dolly as a
person when I happened to pick up her autobiography, Dolly: My
Life and Other Unfinished Business, at a used bookstore in a nearby
town when I was living in Joshua Tree, California, a few years back. . . .
The Zen of Fishing
Leah Gage
©
Copyright 2018 by Leah Gage
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Leah has many loves in
life, but two of the
biggest are fishing and writing. When she’s not doing either of
those she’s probably bored.
I
put my things on a flat spot on the ground and just stood there for a
moment, taking in the scene. The sun was high in the sky and felt
warm on my neck and shoulders. The pond was glassy calm, without a
single ripple disturbing its surface. I was far enough in the woods
that there wasn’t a human made sound to be heard. Birds were
chirping in the distance and dragon flies were bouncing from reed to
reed along the shore, searching for bugs to eat. It was serene and
peaceful and everything that I’d needed for so long. . . .
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Latin
Reasons
Why It Will Survive Another 100 Years
Van Nyankieya Nchogu
©
Copyright 2018 by Van Nyankieya Nchogu
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Despite
being a dead language, existing beyond its shelf life, seeing the
rise and fall of empires, setting foundation for today’s major
languages, Latin still remains relevant in our cultural, political
and social life. Like in Binomial Nomenclature which is used by
scientists in naming of plants & animals borrows heavily from
the
Latin language. From educational institutions, military
organizations, municipals and countries deriving their names,
official mottos & slogans from the language its effect is felt
worldwide. This article strives in affirming why despite being a dead
language its influence is still felt today and will survive for
another hundred years. . . .
Never Getting Back To Normal
A
Dispatch from the Land of Young
Eurocrats
Carter Vance
©
Copyright 2018 by Carter Vance
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To
live anywhere in
the EU at the moment and to be even mildly interested in or involved
with politics is to be in a state of constant pre-occupation. Crises,
both internal and external, seem to crawl out of the collective
woodwork with a deliberate, martial frequency. Just as one problem is
“solved”, usually through a series of ethically
questionable rug-sweeping half-measures, another introduces itself as
an uninvited house guest, pounding at the door, bearing some ancient
grievance or throwing about the inheritance of the late 20th
century’s bad decision. . . .
Facing Gascony
Sandra Hawes
©
Copyright 2018 by Sandra Hawes
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Our
house faced south to rounded hills dotted with farmhouses and an odd
assortment of trees.
September
ambled in on a wave of heat. The sunflowers were being harvested in
the field opposite the house, by our neighbouring farmer. All was
quiet except for the drone of the combine harvester which gave us a
feeling of security that the summer had produced a good crop, and we
were hopeful that later the rains would swell the lakes. The
harvester raised clouds of black dust outside the house. We thought
it a good time to stay in and decorate. . . .
The Pyramid of the Sun
Luisa Kay Reyes
©
Copyright 2018 by Luisa Kay Reyes
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When I found out
that we were going to spend two weeks visiting my brother and his
family in Mexico City, I knew that there was one archaeological site
I simply had to see . . . the Pyramid of the Sun. I had seen it
featured in several historical documentaries on television and I just
had to take this opportunity to go see it in person. . . .
More...
Kidnapped!
Luisa Kay Reyes
©
Copyright 2018 by Luisa Kay Reyes
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When
we went to pay our rent to our always amiable and elegant classy
blonde Spanish landlady, we learned to our dismay that she had
recently passed away. Leaving her beloved son, who had unfortunately
taken after her husband’s no account ways, in charge of the
family’s affairs. And seeing this as a ripe opportunity to set
up a hard-partying bachelor pad, he informed us that we would be
promptly kicked out of our home in the neighborhood we all called La
Privada. . . .
Finding Healing in Prague
Anne Organista
©
Copyright 2018 by Anne Organista
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I expected Prague to be one of the most interesting places I'd visit. Little did I know it would give me so much more.
Prague’s
bohemian appeal and fascinating features made it an ideal destination
for culture lovers like myself. But the day before I left, my
boyfriend broke up with me. Suddenly, Prague was not as enticing and
curling up into a ball seemed like a sensible idea; even though I
knew it would have been foolish not to go.
I
rose to a gorgeous Monday morning with the Prague skyline peeking
through my window. The radiant sunlight, however, didn’t
produce much difference. Sleep had been uneasy, leaving my eyes red
and swollen. Everything had fallen apart, but this was a dream
vacation and I knew it would be a waste not to make the most of this
opportunity. So despite my foul mood, I pushed myself to join the
others who had already headed for Prague Castle. . . .
Kashmir Problem
Musarrat Zaidi
©
Copyright 2018 by Musarrat Zaidi
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Kashmir’s
history is horrible, Kashmiris facing Extreme brutality
Extreme
bloodshed, brute lest killing, India’s subconscious dead, UNO,
USA, closed eyes, only policy statements, no practicality.
Super
powers and UNO talk high like a Don Quicksort about human rights and
their vested interests, but do not feel the severe pains of deep
wounds caused by Indian forces daggers in the chests of Kashmiris,
men, women and kids. . . .
Shoeboxes and Showshoeing
Vicky H. Bourne
©
Copyright 2018 byVicky H. Bourne
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. . . .We
were at least two hours into the bus journey from Sarajevo before
anybody noticed. Helen, a GP from Yorkshire, tapped our guide on the
shoulder.
‘Excuse
me.’ She was almost apologetic. ‘But will we reach the
snow soon?’
‘Oh,
we’ve had no snow this year. The first time in fifty years.’
Katja, our guide for the week is a tall, strong woman in her early
thirties who speaks impeccable English. . . .
History's Eyewitness
Leonard Dawson
©
Copyright 2018 by Leonard Dawson
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What
do Wyatt
Earp and Neil Armstrong have in common? Born in 1881, the year the
Earp brothers faced the Clantons in a gunfight at the O. K. Corral,
my great-grandmother Alice Sapp lived to see Neil Armstrong set foot
on the moon in 1969.
Although
her life
spanned the industrial, nuclear, and space ages, it’s not the
number of years she lived that made her life special, but the range
and depth of the changes her generation experienced. People can argue
that change is dizzyingly rapid these days, but her generation saw
more people, events, discoveries and inventions than any other did. . . .
Fred
Xavier Stenzel
©
Copyright 2018 by Xavier Stenzel
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My
great grandfather was a good man. That word seems to be so trite a
thing to call someone. A good man. A good person. In a way, it seems
reductive almost, an unwieldy and cumbersome title ill-suited to
employment nearly every time it is used.
I’ve
generally always been of the opinion that most people known as ‘good’
are in fact nothing of the sort. In my own experience, these ‘good’
folk would be more suitably named as ‘nice’. Not good,
not bad, just…nice. Perhaps it is that ‘good’
has become so over-used that it rings false in those instances where
it is employed, almost shamelessly it seems. . . .
