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Her
bangles came first, a dozen thin, colorful bangles stacked on each
wrist, clinking together as she crossed the room towards the kitchen.
Then her voice, calling out a greeting in Hindi to my grandmother.
Then her face, already smiling.
Her name was Simran, and she was the woman who cooked and cleaned and kept my grandmother's home running. Every visit to India, she was the first person to notice I had arrived. . . .
The Visit That Never EndedRaul Guzman (c) Copyright 2026 by Raul Guzman 
|
 Photo by josh dago at Pexels. |
When
I was 9 years old, my family and I left Mexico for what I thought was
just a trip. I have since fallen in love with learning and
exploring.
In 2019, I was nine years old, and my family was going on a trip. "Es solo un viaje," my parents used to tell me. A few days before we left, my mother packed one suitcase for me and one for my sister, Rocio, who was eight years old at the time. Though I had no reason to, I counted my shirts the night before we left. Eight shirts. Eight shirts is not forever, I told myself. Eight shirts means we are coming back. . . .
| Richard
and Albert Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2026 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by F. Schmutzer, 1921, at Wikimedia Commons. |
 Photo from California Institute of Technology at Wikimedia Commons. |
Albert
Einstein, born
in the City of Ulm in Germany in 1879, was awarded a Nobel Prize in
Physics, in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1921. When he died in 1955, at
Princeton in the United States of America, the Physics Department of
the University of Natal in Durban, South Africa, extended an
invitation to Richard Phillips Feynman to present an hour-long paper
about Albert Einstein.
Feynman accepted the invitation on the condition that in the question time after his presentation, he answered only one question of his choice out of twenty submitted anonymously in writing to the University before he arrived.
Richard
Phillips
Feynman, born in the City of New York in the United States of America
in 1918, was awarded a Nobel Prize in Physics, in Stockholm, Sweden,
in 1965. . . .
August 4, 1962-Case No. 81128Thomas Turman (c) Copyright 2026 by Thomas Turman  |
 Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay |
It
has been a slow summer August in Los Angeles for Ty Withers at the
West Village Mortuary. Ty, in his last year of medical school at
U.C.L.A., was taking the late shift hoping their old black phone
wouldn't ring and he could spend the night studying. That all went
wrong at around 4 a.m.
The LAPD sergeant's voice was rushed and clipped. "Dr. Theodore Murphey at the morgue is sending a special body over to you. This is very special and must be handled with care.". . .
The LAPD sergeant's voice was rushed and clipped. "Dr. Theodore Murphey at the morgue is sending a special body over to you. This is very special and must be handled with care.". . .
| Gramma's
Cup Of Blood Lorne Wilson  (c) Copyright 2026 by Lorne Wilson |
 Photo by urtimud.89 at Pexels. |
Gramma
emigrated from Norway in 1900 when she was sixteen years old, the
legal age she could do so. Like many Scandinavians at the time, she
immigrated to North America for a better life. She was a peasant, so
when she got here, she worked as a farm labourer even when she got
married.
Her only old-country friend, when I knew her, emigrated from Norway in 1916 when he was sixteen. He was a very nice man with a bulbous nose. In later years, it got so big he had to get it drained. He gave my brother and me our first paid job to help him pick up rocks on his farm once. While we had lunch on the stoneboat behind his horses, he told us his parents sent him away from Norway to keep him from being conscripted into the army. When we told our mother this, she said he came from a well-to-do family because they had money to pay for his passage. Despite this class difference, the two were always glad to see each other. . . .
Her only old-country friend, when I knew her, emigrated from Norway in 1916 when he was sixteen. He was a very nice man with a bulbous nose. In later years, it got so big he had to get it drained. He gave my brother and me our first paid job to help him pick up rocks on his farm once. While we had lunch on the stoneboat behind his horses, he told us his parents sent him away from Norway to keep him from being conscripted into the army. When we told our mother this, she said he came from a well-to-do family because they had money to pay for his passage. Despite this class difference, the two were always glad to see each other. . . .
Golden Rules And The Game ReserveSarah Nash (c) Copyright 2026 by Sarah Nash |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Some of my earliest
childhood memories involve my gran's hands.
Sitting next to her at her dining room table, feet dangling, I would watch as she trimmed the ends off beans. Precision-wrapped a present. Cut around a pattern pinned to a piece of fabric with decisive strokes of her fabric scissors - which you were, under no circumstances, to touch. (Note: The purpose of this rule was not for the safety of small children. It was for the safety of the pristine scissors in the hands of children who could not be trusted to use their heads.) . . . .
Sitting next to her at her dining room table, feet dangling, I would watch as she trimmed the ends off beans. Precision-wrapped a present. Cut around a pattern pinned to a piece of fabric with decisive strokes of her fabric scissors - which you were, under no circumstances, to touch. (Note: The purpose of this rule was not for the safety of small children. It was for the safety of the pristine scissors in the hands of children who could not be trusted to use their heads.) . . . .
When Life Changed The RulesDavid Krochmal (c) Copyright 2026 by David Krochmal |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
For
52 years, I
barely knew the inside of a doctor's office. I was the guy who
worked hard, kept moving, and figured that if something needed doing,
I would find a way to do it. I spent my life in the restaurant
business, sometimes working 100 hours a week. Work was more than a
paycheck. It was my routine, my independence, my identity. I was used
to being the person who handled things--not the person who needed
help.
The Trip I Never Wanted To Take: Golden TempleApoorva Goyal (c) Copyright 2026 by Apoorva Goyal |
 |
I
am a banker, and I do not just go on trips.
Ask anyone who knows me. When I travel, I plan. I research, I book, I make lists, and then I check the lists. A journey, to me, is a project with a deadline and a budget. So when my husband said, "Let's go to Amritsar," on a long weekend that I had reserved entirely for doing nothing, I was shocked.
It had been a long, hectic week at work. My only plan was to stay at home and rest. I wanted my own bed, my own quiet, and no alarm clocks. And now, in the middle of that peaceful plan, I was being asked to travel. Suddenly. With no preparation at all. . . .
Ask anyone who knows me. When I travel, I plan. I research, I book, I make lists, and then I check the lists. A journey, to me, is a project with a deadline and a budget. So when my husband said, "Let's go to Amritsar," on a long weekend that I had reserved entirely for doing nothing, I was shocked.
It had been a long, hectic week at work. My only plan was to stay at home and rest. I wanted my own bed, my own quiet, and no alarm clocks. And now, in the middle of that peaceful plan, I was being asked to travel. Suddenly. With no preparation at all. . . .
The Same SkyJuly 2011Karen Kish (C) Copyright 2026 by Karen Kish |
 Photo of Karen at Raon L’Etape. |
My
brother Gary leaned over the dining room table in our Vermont log
home, one hand clasped. "I want you to
have
this, someday for you to give your son Andy." His fingers slowly
unfurled. "It's Dad's dog tag." He angled the beaded metal
chain into my palm.
I
closed my eyes and hand, feeling our father's
weight of war. "Someday I'll go there," I whispered. . . .
|
Fourty Hours On The Track
|
|
The
heat is oppressive on a July day in Chennai even at 6:30 in the morning
as I get out of bed. Outside I can hear rickshaw drivers honking and
the noise of humanity drifting in with the pink sunrise. The insomnia
hit me particularly hard last night and the heat likely didn't help
either so I'm dragging but moving. I pack my backpack up, slip on
my runners and look at my watch. It's time to go. I'm both
nervous and excited for today, but I try to convince myself that the
butterflies in my stomach are excitement. My team of 6 gathers
outside our hotel to head to the train station. I have only a
backpack of my own stuff, but the team luggage is substantial. We are
travelling up to New Delhi and have brought supplies for the team we
are meeting up there. We have four Rubbermaid tubs and 3 suitcases
full of things from their life in America that we have brought over,
as well as healthcare supplies that they need. It's substantial and
I will be glad to get be free of them. . . .
|
My Chaotic Parisian Adventure
|
|
During
the summer of 2025 my family and I went to Europe. We started off in
Edinburgh, then drove down to London, took the train to Paris, flew
to Stockholm, then took another train down to Malmo, and finally took
a commuter train to Copenhagen for the night before flying back to
Winnipeg. That's where I'm from by the way.
The whole trip was amazing, the best I've ever taken; and that's saying something considering I've been all over Canada and to Mexico as well as the Dominican Republic. But for this story I am going to mainly focus on the Paris leg of the trip considering it was the most, let's say, exciting part of the trip. But that's not to say the rest of the trip was boring, it was quite the opposite actually. . . .
|
The Laughing Troll
Dina Bern
(c) Copyright 2026 by Dina Bern |
|
In
the mid-1980s, Tania Celis, an American of Guatemalan descent, was
teaching at an elementary school in Brooklyn, New York. She adored
two things about her work above all else: the school's practice of
celebrating every child's heritage--whether native-born or
immigrant--and the nearly three-month summer vacation. The extended
break allowed her to temp as a secretary for a few weeks to boost her
travel savings so she could visit the countries on her bucket list. . . .
The Traveling HitchhikerSean Wood (c) Copyright 2026 by Sean Wood |
 Photo of Nolan Ryan Plaque courtesy of baseball hall of fame.in Cooperstown, New York. |
December
2001
I stopped at the Texas Rangers ballpark to take a tour before I headed to Shreveport, Louisiana. I went in the stadium and I went into the baseball cards and memorabilia room.
I was using one of those instant kodaks 27 film cameras. I had the same lighting in there. Two of the pictures came out in the ghostly nostalgic feel like from the 1800s and that was amazing. The pictures were Ted Williams and Roberto Clemente.
Then I went to the Nolan Ryan
Exhibit. I put my hand on
this glove. Then I pressed fastball. I felt how fast Nolan Ryan's
fastball was on my hand. My hand went back 2 inches from the glove. . . .
The River That Connects UsFaridun Pulotov (c) Copyright 2026 by Faridun Pulotov |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
never thought my first solo trip to Dushanbe would change my mind
about water so much. But it really happened, and I want to share how
a simple guy from Khujand, Tajikistan started to understand the real price of
water.
I am 19 years old, live in Khujand. I study programming and lead a volunteer club "Vatanparvar". Before this trip, water was just something usual for me. It flows from tap every day and you don't even think about it. You wash face, drink tea, swim in river. But one day in Telegram group for activists I saw a post about Youth Water Forum in Dushanbe. It said they look for young people who care about ecology. . . .
I am 19 years old, live in Khujand. I study programming and lead a volunteer club "Vatanparvar". Before this trip, water was just something usual for me. It flows from tap every day and you don't even think about it. You wash face, drink tea, swim in river. But one day in Telegram group for activists I saw a post about Youth Water Forum in Dushanbe. It said they look for young people who care about ecology. . . .
|
Ode To Fountain Ferry Ronnie Dee
(c)
Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee |
|
Fountain
Ferry. What great memories and what great fun! Fountain Ferry was
actually Fontaine Ferry Park, an amusement park in the West End of
Louisville, Kentucky. It was built in 1905 and closed down in 1969. . . .
From My Village To The Great Wall Of China: A Journey That Changed My WorldviewA True Story of Discovery, Friendship, Innovation, and the Beginning of an Entrepreneurial JourneyUmedjon Amoni (c) Copyright 2026 by Umedjon Amoni |
 Photo by Xiaodong Zhang at Pexels. |
Tajikistan - 2026
Some journeys end when an airplane lands, yet continue to unfold throughout a person's life. They remain in the memory, take root in our thoughts, and gradually become decisions that shape our future. For me, such a journey was my first trip to the People's Republic of China. It was more than an opportunity to visit another country. It was the moment when the world stepped beyond the boundaries of my imagination and became a living reality. . . .
|
The Day We Found Home A True Story from Gornto Springs, Florida Kristina Douglas (c) Copyright 2026 by Kristina Douglas |
 Photo by Jean Paul Montanaro at Pexels. |
There
is a little place along the Suwannee River where giant water oaks
stretch their branches over the water, forming a canopy that makes
the rest of the world feel far away.
In the early mornings, dew drips from the trees as daylight slowly makes its way through the branches. From the fishing pier, you can watch sturgeon jumping out of the still-dark Suwannee River. Around the corner, a crystal-clear spring reveals turtles and other wildlife beneath the surface. . . .
In the early mornings, dew drips from the trees as daylight slowly makes its way through the branches. From the fishing pier, you can watch sturgeon jumping out of the still-dark Suwannee River. Around the corner, a crystal-clear spring reveals turtles and other wildlife beneath the surface. . . .
|
The Distance Between Home And Hello
|
|
. . . .On
March 25, 2026, my daughter Grace and I made a trip to Walmart. To
most people, that probably doesn't sound like much of an adventure.
It's a place to pick up groceries, find what you need, and get back
home before the ice cream melts.
But when you're the mother of a daughter with autism, cerebral palsy, sensory processing difficulties, and significant communication challenges, even an ordinary trip can become a journey into unfamiliar territory. . . .
|
In Security K. S. Anthony (c) Copyright 2020 by K. S. Anthony |
 Photo by Nina Hill at Pexels. |
I
had good days and I had bad days working security at El Cerrito
Plaza, but most of my days were neither. I checked doors, I answered
the phone, I told people not to skate or bike through the common
areas. I did walk-throughs of stores, I ate Hot Pockets microwaved in
my office or called whoever I was dating at any given time on my
break. I talked to people, listened to people. I dressed up as Batman
and handed out stickers and candy to kids for the Plaza's Halloween
trick-or-treat event. When there were problems, I tried to solve them
peacefully. . . .
Cancer And MeAbbie Creed (c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed |
 Photo of the author. |
It has always been
one of the signs of cancer when you find blood in your stool.
However, I had just purchased replacement windows, you know the kind
that are advertised that a woman can easily clean with one hand. I
wanted to test them out, so proceeded to follow directions and found
that because I am short in stature, the operation was a little more
difficult than I had expected. I strained quite a bit to return the
window to its original setting. So, I thought perhaps because I had
blood in my stool, I had ruptured a hemorrhoid. . . .
|
Dr. McD
Michael Theroux (c) Copyright 2026 by Michael Theroux |
 Photo by Katrin Bolovtsova at Pexels. |
My
mentor, Dr. Walter B. McDougall, Museum of Northern Arizona (MNA),
H.S. Colton Research Center, was born in 1883, and died at 97 in
1980. I was 21 and he was 88 when I started my internship under him,
later securing a permanent position as his field botanist.
Dr. Walter B. McDougall, or to us, 'Dr. McD', drove a bright orange VW, did his own grocery shopping (carrots, Cheerios were favorites) and walked a mile circuit in the fields behind the research center almost every day, a morning ritual on which I tried very hard to join him as often as possible. He tended to wear cardigans, layered according to the weather, over his Park Service green Khaki shirt and pants, with his thin Service tie. . . .
Dr. Walter B. McDougall, or to us, 'Dr. McD', drove a bright orange VW, did his own grocery shopping (carrots, Cheerios were favorites) and walked a mile circuit in the fields behind the research center almost every day, a morning ritual on which I tried very hard to join him as often as possible. He tended to wear cardigans, layered according to the weather, over his Park Service green Khaki shirt and pants, with his thin Service tie. . . .
| Kintsugi Tamila Bahshieva (c) Copyright 2026 Tamila Bahshieva |
 Photo by Ruthann Hurwitz at Wikimedia Commons. |
Kintsugi,
translated from Japanese, means "golden repair."
It is the Japanese art of restoring broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold or platinum powder.
What
fascinated me was that kintsugi is not simply about mending something
that has been broken. It is also a philosophy--one that embraces
imperfection, seeing it as an inseparable part of an object's
history. . . .
My Journey To Nkanu EastMaryanne E. Okeke (c) Copyright 2026 by Maryanne E. Okeke |
 Photo by Teona Swift at Pexels. |
Finding Mi Familia In Chimayo, New MexicoMargaret Bolte (c) Copyright 2026 by Margaret Bolte |
 El Santuario de Chimayo. Photo courtesy of the author. |
During
a recent visit, I met my cousins who live in Chimayo, New Mexico.
Chimayo is a small village located twenty-five miles north of Santa
Fe, New Mexico. Chimayo is nestled in the foothills of the Sangre de
Cristo Mountains. This is where my father's family lives. This is
where, upon my visit to Chimayo, a family bond emerged. . . .
The White SilenceMy Trip To The Faisal MosqueMirha Qasim (c) Copyright 2026 by Mirha Qasim |
 Photo by Ali Mujtaba at Wikimedia Commons. |
I
did not plan to go to Faisal mosque that day. I live in
Rawalpindi,
and like many girls here, my life is mostly inside home, work in my
laptop, and my small what's up channel. That
morning, my cousin
said she wanted to go to Islamabad to
buy a book from Urdu bazar, and she asked me to come with her. I said
yes, but in my heart, I wanted to see Faisal Mosque again. . . .
Taking My Father To See The SeaLuo Chao (c) Copyright 2026 by Luo Chao |
 Photo by Amine Mayoufi at Pexels. |
My
father was sixty-one years old when he saw the ocean for the first
time.
He
had lived his whole life in a farming village on the North China
Plain, where the land is so flat that from our roof you could see the
next village and the one after that. The deepest water he knew well
was the irrigation canal behind our house, green and still, where we
kept two geese. . . .
Half A Tank And Nowhere To GoChinmay Khare (c) Copyright 2026 by Chinmay Khare |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
There
are times when everyone encounters situations where things don't go
as they had hoped. You work hard; you do everything you're told; you
make all the corrections you're given; you tell yourself that if you
can be persistent, it has to go somewhere! Then there's a break
without warning.
Mine broke on 14 August 2026. . . .
Mine broke on 14 August 2026. . . .
|
Dear Old High School
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Every
year at this time I am reminded of my high school days. In the 1950s,
there were no air-conditioned classrooms, so school didn't start
until after Labor Day in September. As I write this, it is September
3rd, and school has been in session for over two weeks. I might add,
temperatures are near record highs. It is hot! But I also remember
wondering why we had to attend school for two or three days during
Labor Day week? Every kid I knew felt the same; why not start
back after that week? We thought the people running the
school
system were stupid, but of course, we did not know about school
funding at that time in our lives; I know I only wanted those few
extra days before I had to start facing homework again. Anything to
extend the summer break. . . .
|
Uncle
Kenny Ronnie Dee
(c)
Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee |
|
If
there was a male presence in my life who I admired, it was my Uncle
Kenny. But make no mistake, unlike me, my Uncle Kenneth Mock was a
hard working man. He was also very skilled as a mechanic, a carpenter
and an architect. He was the elder son of my grandmother, with my
mother being in the middle and my Uncle George the youngest. . . .
What Her Sari CoveredRenesa Lalchandani (c) Copyright 2026 by Renesa Lalchandani |
 Photo by BANU FILM ADS at Pexels. |
I
always heard her before I saw her.
Her name was Simran, and she was the woman who cooked and cleaned and kept my grandmother's home running. Every visit to India, she was the first person to notice I had arrived. . . .
Gasworks At Moonlight And Paper Nylon PetticoatsJill Allison (c) Copyright 2026 by Jill Allison |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
'Gasworks
at Moonlight' and 'Water Closet at Dawn' were the irreverent
names bestowed by my greasy haired pimply brother to the favourite
perfumes of my youth.
If you remember 'Evening in Paris' (small midnight blue bottle with silver coloured pointed top) and 'White Fire' (an equally small bottle but red glass) then you are older than you think; in fact like me you are child of the sixties. . . .
If you remember 'Evening in Paris' (small midnight blue bottle with silver coloured pointed top) and 'White Fire' (an equally small bottle but red glass) then you are older than you think; in fact like me you are child of the sixties. . . .
NyepiTiffany Lee (c) Copyright 2026 by Tiffany Lee |
 Photo by Andry Sasongko at Pexels. |
"Singapurrrr!"
Hearing the surfer's appellation for me, I turn reflexively toward the greeting.
I'm not Singaporean, but I always come to Bali from Singapore. A good enough response to "where are you from" for this American. . . .
Hearing the surfer's appellation for me, I turn reflexively toward the greeting.
I'm not Singaporean, but I always come to Bali from Singapore. A good enough response to "where are you from" for this American. . . .
The WrenchLuo Chao (c) Copyright 2026 by Luo Chao |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My
father worked as a fitter at a fertilizer plant for thirty years. The
plant sat on the east side of our town, a cluster of gray concrete
buildings with pipes running along the outside like exposed veins.
Every weekday morning at six, he put on his blue work uniform and
rode his bicycle out the gate. Every evening at six, he came back
smelling of machine oil and ammonia, his fingernails permanently
black at the edges no matter how hard he scrubbed them. . . .
Closing The Gap With FangioPamella Laird (c) Copyright 2026 by Pamella Laird |
 Photo by Bino Gadoino at Pexels.
|
Among
my travel memories, most of which were included in letters home to
New Zealand, the day we left Innsbruck seems to remain the most
unexpected and memorable. This would have been in 1956, when Europe's
appalling ruins still showed signs of the horrific years of WW2.
My
travelling friend, Zala and I were part hitch-hiking our way around
Europe, (not a risk I would take today). From time to time, we shared
an old London taxi with four other young women who would occasionally
head off to an area we had no interest in. By the grace of God, we
somehow always managed to reconnect at one of the Youth Hostels in a
prearranged town or city. . . .
|
A Special Memory
Steven Hunley
(c) Copyright 2026 by Steven Hunley
|
Photo by Antoni Shkraba at Pexels. |
You
take an assignment for moderate to severe special Ed. You're
hesitant and have some sort of unexplainable fear of the kids. You
have reservations. You imagine what might happen if one of the
students goes off like nitroglycerine and explodes, then what do you
do? I've always been afraid of breaking things, declared awkward as
a child. This may be my worst assignment ever. What if nothing
happens at all? Then what do you do? The regular teachers aren't
there, so visiting teachers rely on aids and technicians, who know
these kids inside out. , , ,
|
October
Fights Ronnie Dee
(c)
Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee |
|
Bud
and I did some silly things now and then and I can't tell you why.
Like the night we laid down in the middle of 34th Street. It was a
busy street and, I don't know, maybe we had a dare to see who would
get up first or something, but we did it. . . .
Westward By WaterNiklas Pettersson (c) Copyright 2026 by Niklas Pettersson |
 Photo by Jess Chen at of Wikimedia Commons. |
This
account follows a public
ferry journey from my
home village in the Stockholm archipelago toward the capital and
back.
I live close enough to Stavsnas vinterhamn that the beginning of an archipelago journey can feel almost too ordinary. On the morning of this trip, delivery vans were already moving near the quay, passengers stood beside wheeled bags, and the digital board listed boats and islands that many people around me clearly knew by heart. Yet I had chosen to travel in the less familiar direction. Instead of going outward toward Sandhamn and the open Baltic, I would work my way west through the inner archipelago and continue toward Stockholm Strom. . . .
I live close enough to Stavsnas vinterhamn that the beginning of an archipelago journey can feel almost too ordinary. On the morning of this trip, delivery vans were already moving near the quay, passengers stood beside wheeled bags, and the digital board listed boats and islands that many people around me clearly knew by heart. Yet I had chosen to travel in the less familiar direction. Instead of going outward toward Sandhamn and the open Baltic, I would work my way west through the inner archipelago and continue toward Stockholm Strom. . . .
|
Night Ronnie Dee
(c)
Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee |
|
| Archeological
Dig Sara Etgen-Baker (c) Copyright 2026 by Sara Etgen-Baker |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
"Did
you know pennies used to be bigger?" Dad's voice was warm, his
fingers tapping the edge of the kitchen table where an old jelly jar
sat between us. The jar was slightly cracked and stuffed full of
copper pennies, some so old they had turned green at the edges.
|
Eric The Hun
Steven Hunley
(c) Copyright
2026 by Steven Hunley |
|
My dad owned a Shell
station on University Avenue in San Diego and on his crew, there were
three young men in their twenties, two old men in their fifties, Dad,
and me.
Len, our mechanic, was a good friend of Dad's and Eric Muller was a close second in things mechanical. It seemed to me that within Eric, logic, method, and execution were precisely balanced in one package and the package was labeled Made in Germany. . . .
| What
Goes Around Comes Around Bheka Pierce (c) Copyright 2025 by Bheka Pierce |
 "I lost her twenty-four years ago, but she remains in my heart every second of every day now left to me." Photo courtesy of the author. |
In
southern Africa, serving in the Peace Corps in Swaziland in the early
1970s, I found the love of my life, a Danish lass, whose outer and
inner beauty were joined into one. We married, taught together in a
bush school built by her father, took a walking tour up Africa, made
it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, and eventually settled in
Denmark, where we raised two children, and worked together at the
Copenhagen International School for twenty years before ALS took her
from us. . . .
Clouds Don't SaluteHridoy Kundu © Copyright 2026 by Hridoy Kundu |
 Photo by Muhammed zeya at Pexzels |
|
My Saturday Morning From Hell
Valerie Byron (c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Byron |
|
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Grandmother's Truths
Dina Bern
(c) Copyright 2026 by Dina Bern |
|
Candelaria
opened the door to leave the small apartment where her grandmother
lived. Before closing it behind her, she turned back to look at the
tiny woman sitting on the narrow bed, which was covered in indigenous
corte textiles of endless patterns and colors. The petite woman
smiled. Across her deeply wrinkled, brown face--resembling the bark
of an ancient tree--appeared a line of teeth that looked more like
the kernels of a tiny ear of yellow corn. . . .
|
Hey, 10%
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Stills from the American baseball film Heading Home (1920) with Babe Ruth, on page 42 of the August 28, 1920 Exhibitors Herald. |
Yes,
I am talking to you, my fellow lefthanders. Today, August 13th,
is lefthander day, a time to recognize those like me, who stress
daily to live our lives in a world, which in many ways, is strange to
us. I should have sent this earlier so you would have received it on
the 13th, but we left-handers are sometimes
scatter-brained. Mark your calendar for next year. . . .