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Hangin'
Carol Arvo
© Copyright 2019 by Carol Arvo
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Everyone
has a
“bucket list,” whether they realize and acknowledge it or
not. It might just be a nagging feeling in the subconscious, or it
might be right out there for all to see, but it’s there. Mine
was right out there for 20 years. Everyone knew I loved to
fly.
It was finally time to check this one off of my “bucket list. . . .”
The Times, They Are A-Changin'
Judith Nakken
©
Copyright 2019 by Judith Nakken
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I
was unhappy with the change in discounts for seniors, and initially
polite as I could be at the Customer Disservice counter. “These
new rebates are really niggardly,” I said, and didn’t
continue because of the look of shock rapidly turning to hatred on
her Caucasian face. “Oh, wait,” I tried to explain since
I know too well that today’s under-40’s have little
knowledge of the English language. . . .
Magic Broom
Elizabeth Lloyd
©
Copyright 2019 by Elizabeth Lloyd
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. . . .Glancing
back at the house, no mother in sight, the rule attempted itself one
last time. Stepping
out into the alley, I held my breath and waited for a scolding. It did not
come. The
rule was completely gone now. Each
step toward my destination brought reassurance that, yes, this treasure
could indeed be retrieved. . . .
A
Cultural Awakening in Swaziland
Daniel Stantus
©
Copyright 2019 by Daniel Stantus
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I
was a Peace Corps Volunteer from 1970 to 1974. It was a dream come
true for me ever since my hero John F. Kennedy introduced the program
in the early 60’s. The thought of travel to a foreign country,
living and working with the people, and raising the standards of
living for a third world people was so appealing to me. I came from a
family that had barely travelled to the next State, let alone
overseas. In fact I had never even been in a plane before. . . .
The
Lady Who Wears Dead Foxes
Kathryn
Lynch
©
Copyright 2019 by Kathryn Lynch
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In 1970, I
had already been a fourth grade teacher for several years. Armed
with a Lifetime Teaching Certificate, I had decided on a four
year nighttime endeavor, entering the University |of San Francisco
School of Law program. I resolved that during the day, my teaching
efforts would not be degraded or curtailed because my primary
responsibility remained to the 43 fourth graders in my
class. This was before Teacher's Aids, teacher prep time or any form
of assistance was available. . . .
Topanga Canyon Fire
Doug Sherr
©
Copyright 2019 by Doug Sherr
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Topanga
Canyon connects the Pacific Ocean to the San Fernando Valley, where
the Valley Girls roamed. The Santa Monica Mountains rise to the east
and hills that stretch to Malibu define the western side. Water
trickles down the creek bed providing enough moisture for a variety
of mature trees and bushes that keep the canyon cool on desert-hot
summer days. In the midst of the urban horror of LA, the canyon is a
rural outpost that mixes the best of Appalachia and Carmel: In the
early 1970s, impoverished hippie artists of great talent lived in
shacks and raised goats next door to famous rock and roll musicians
and actors who argued with their agents while drinking goat’s
milk. Charlie Manson’s first murder happened on Old Topanga
Canyon Boulevard and Will Geer, Grandpa on the Waltons, had an
outdoor Shakespearean theater, Theatricum Botanicum, at the other end
of the canyon. . . .
More...
If You Ever Feel Like Giving Up--Keep Going
Kelly Maida
©
Copyright 2019 by Kelly Maida
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I
was inspired to write this because sometimes it seems
like there is not a light at the end of a tunnel and that we
sometimes quit right before we get to that light! . . .
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Apology to a Blog
Kay
Harper
©
Copyright 2019 by Kay Harper
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Photo (c) 2019 by Kay Harper.
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It's
rare, I know, but think I owe my blog an apology. I’ve been so
caught up in “Encouragin’
Words,” my daily
devotional on Facebook, that I had been ignoring this blog. There
appears to be only so much of me to go around, but
from now on I plan to carve out time for this “God Is Big”
blog, as well for as my other writing. . . .
A Story for My Father
Eileen W. Fisher
©
Copyright 2019 by Eileen W. Fisher
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My
father always wanted to be a writer, but that was not practical. By
the time I was in fourth grade, I decided that I was going to fulfill
his dream.
My
mother called him Natie, he called himself Nat; his nickname was
Nissel. I called him Daddy. . .
More...
Summer of David
Elizabeth Lloyd
©
Copyright 2019 by Elizabeth Lloyd
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This is a true story. However
when sitting down to
write it, the only way to alleviate the writer’s block that was
happening was to change the names in the story. It was easier
to write it in the third person rather than insert myself into the
story again. . . .
Hunger
Kathryn
Lynch
©
Copyright 2019 by Kathryn Lynch
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This is a
story about hunger which is never relieved, never goes away no matter
what advantages persons might achieve by the single minded pursuit of
the American dream. It is a true story, a sad story, one which made
me realize how lucky I was to call this country home. All of the
participants in this story have now died except for the author. Let
this telling honor them. . .
This is a
story about my Dad and Mom encountering
a Jewish person for the
first time. In the post Second World War era, Jews were any persons
of Jewish ethnicity no matter where they were located, and any
persons who espoused the Jewish Faith whether born into it or
converted to it. Andy Bageson may not have been the best
example of a
Jew, but he was the first Jew I ever knew with all his virtues and
all his flaws. . . .
Illumination
Laura Labno
©
Copyright 2019 by Laura Labno
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Sarah
was drawing at
her desk when suddenly one thought became very prominent in her mind.
An illuminated memory – Snails.
This
one day, a large amount of earth circulations ago, in a small poor
city, in even smaller and poorer neighbourhood she and her friend
were playing. They’ve collected an impressive amount of snails
and put them into a box. The idea was to open a Snail School. A Card
Box Primary Snail School. . . .
More...
Advice To My Daughters
Kelly Maida
©
Copyright 2019 by Kelly Maida
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As
a survivor of domestic violence and I have been through both physical
and emotional abuse, I would never want anyone to go through what I
experienced. If I can help in anyway I would like to try. Today I was
sending my daughters a message and It inspired me to write this. . . .
The Saga of Pretty Boy Floyd
Isabel
Bearman Bucher
©
Copyright 2019
by Isabel
Bearman Bucher
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My
retired husband, Robert, is want to go to garage sales. Over
the years he’s come home with a few treasures, but more often
than not, the objects are real pitch-out dogs. When he’s
forgotten about them, I usually toss them into the garbage or the
give-away pile. One year, he came home with Pretty Boy Floyd,
an American, three-toed box turtle, for which he paid the
handsome sum of five
bucks. The
turtle really was a beauty; ergo his name.
Brilliant
orange spots that resembled Halloween candy corn, flamed up
his
legs and was matched by clear blazing orange eyes. Holding
him,
he let you scratch his head, while his legs went like windmills. A
week later, he got sick. . . .
The Kaiser's Brooch
Helene Munson
©
Copyright 2019 by Helene Munson
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The
Kaiser’s Brooch is what I have been told about my
great-grandmother Marie Sophie Schmiede by my grandmother,
supplemented by my knowledge of German history and carefully
researched historical facts (Everything from the name of the Rabbi to
the Tzar’s children having measles is true.) My short story is
aimed at not just preserving a piece of family history but also
giving the reader an understanding of what lead up to Germany’s
disastrous 20th century history, weaving it into the story about my
great grandmother…and yes… I own the Kaiser’s
Brooch. . . .
More...
My
First Theatre Experience
Albert Vetere Lannon
©
Copyright 2019 by Albert Vetere Lannon
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I
love the theatre. I’ve been able over my eight decades to see
lots of plays, from street performers to first-class houses in New
York, London, San Francisco, and now, Tucson. I didn’t grow up
with theatre in my life. As a street kid on New York’s Lower
East Side the thee-A-ter was something uptowners with money did and
they did it uptown. We made do with the fourth-run Stuyvesant movie
house on Second Avenue, around the corner from twelth
Street
where I lived and across the street from the corner candy store where
we hung out, sipping sodas and playing the jukebox. . . .
Colorado
Memoir
Robert Flournoy
©
Copyright
2019 by Robert Flournoy
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When I left the army in 1973 I headed to
Colorado to see
if some dreams could come true. I had been in love with the
mere thought of the Rocky Mountains since boyhood and could not wait
to get there. Colorado Springs was small then, Denver half
the
size it is today, its yellow dome not yet a significant trade
mark.
I bought a home in the shadow of Pike's Peak and could access a dozen
pristine trout streams in the foothills close to my house that were
full of fish. . . .
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