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Scroll down to see recent stories
Not small dreams.
| Bears
And Rumours Of Bears Zane Fanning (c) Copyright 2025 by Zane Fanning  |
 Photo coutesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
. . . .Environmental
concerns were little more than an afterthought in the early 1960s,
and garbage was simply burned, buried, tossed over a hill, or thrown
from a car window. In rural society, if a designated dump wasn't
conveniently close, new ones were cultivated like garden plots.
Typically, these junkyard nurseries sprang up in old gravel pits or
in hollows along neglected roads. All it took was a discarded fridge,
a car body, and a few empty cans to get one started. Before long,
others added to the mix, and an unofficial landfill would soon
blossom. Broken glass, dead batteries, nail-infested wood, and
expired medications were accepted without question. Civil and Human
Rights were still on the drawing board, but when it came to garbage,
there was no discrimination. . . .
|
Characters In My Play
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles 
|
 Image by Monica Volpin from Pixabay |
"Memory,"
is a wonderful thing. We tend to appreciate it more as we get older,
and at my age, I am thankful I still have it. After all, almost every
story I write is about my life, and those who have touched it, and I
need a good memory.
Each of us runs into many people in our life experience. I see them as "actors," "characters" who step on and off our stage to become a part of our theatrical support during our brief stay on this earth. I am not a theologian, nor would I consider myself a deep thinker, but I sometimes wonder if we aren't just acting out a part in life's play, one that is written, produced and directed by a much higher authority. . . .
When The
Atlantic Hits The Wall
Ana Bohane (c) Copyright 2026 by Ana Bohane |
 Photo by Jarno Colijn on Unsplash |
As
a child, my mum would take me to the boardwalk in Cascais, no matter
the weather. Rain, shine, or wind, nothing stopped her from dragging
me out the door, always geared with snacks, i.e., cucumber
sandwiches. It was a 30-minute walk until we hit the stairs of a very
smelly underground passage that would finally get us to the paredao
de Cascais (the boardwalk). . . .
|
Just
When I Needed You Most
|
Oddly,
the song that best depicts despair and grief the most is a wonderfully
listenable song, so very well performed and produced. It came out when
I was at the peak of my life. It was 1979 and I was madly in love and
engaged to be married in September of the following year. I was
performing music often and I was the happiest I had ever been. . . .
Hidden Gems Of San Miguel de AllendeRoger Funston (c) Copyright 2026 by Roger Funston  |
 Mask of Payoso (clown). Photo by the author. |
When
most North Americans think of Mexico, they think beach resorts,
Mexico City, pyramids. . .and cartels. But Mexico is a large,
culturally and biological diverse country not easily catagorized,
much the same as the United States. One must use common sense to
avoid known areas of gangs and crime anywhere in the world.
My wife and I have visited San Miguel de Allende four times and will shortly leave for our fifth trip. A UNESCO World Heritage site, San Miguel de Allende is famous for its baroque and neo-classical Spanish colonial architecture. The buildings have colorful fasades, often with ornate stone carvings and heavy wooden doors, some from the 18th century. Cobblestone streets and intimate courtyards with elaborate fountains are commonplace. . . .
My wife and I have visited San Miguel de Allende four times and will shortly leave for our fifth trip. A UNESCO World Heritage site, San Miguel de Allende is famous for its baroque and neo-classical Spanish colonial architecture. The buildings have colorful fasades, often with ornate stone carvings and heavy wooden doors, some from the 18th century. Cobblestone streets and intimate courtyards with elaborate fountains are commonplace. . . .
Chance Encounters Of A Repetitive NatureElizabeth Alvera Mullock (c) Copyright 2026 by Elizabeth Alvera Mullock |
 Image by Ekaterina from Pixabay |
A story about encountering a
seventy-year-old man in my neighbourhood on numerous occasions and
realizing that I may have met the individual before. Initially, I had
some cause for concern with regard to the man's welfare and
well-being. I eventually came to learn that he possessed a home in
the neighbourhood and social supports in the community. . . .
| Whatever
Flyeth Or Creepeth Upon The Earth Karen Radford Treanor
(c) Copyright 2026 by Karen Radford Treanor
|
 Image by PublicDomainImages from Pixabay |
One
of my late mother's more endearing qualities was her boundless
love for all things that crawl, fly, or swim upon the earth. She
took it as her civic duty as a country resident to ensure that any
ill, injured or incapacitated creature that dragged itself to her
door was nursed back to health. . . .
Sprinkle, Pour, Or HoseGrowing Up As A PK Bonnie Crandall (c) Copyright 2026 by Bonnie Crandall |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My
ten-year old voice was firm and full of authority. "By the power
invested in me by the church, I now pronounce you man and wife. You
may kiss the bride."
As
usual, this was the point when the giggling started from the lawn
chairs in the back of the play-yard, and Bryan, who was the most
sought-after "husband," would begin to redden from the neck
up. . . .
More...
|
The
Shotgun
|
Beverly's MagicAbbie Creed (c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed |
 Photo by Kampus Production at Pexels. |
I
wrote this story following my first visit to the beauty shop after
the pandemic quarantine was lifted. It was like a little bit of
heaven! When the order to shut in and stay safe came, one of the
first things I missed was my weekly trip to the beauty shop. When I
started teaching at St. Raphael many years ago, I treated myself to a
weekly visit to the beauty school on Bardstown Road, where Beverly
was a student. She worked her magic the whole time she was in school
there. . . .
|
Cadiz Giles Ryan (c) Copyright 2026 by Giles Ryan |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
It's
a pleasure to walk down the narrow streets of Cadiz, where few
cars pass, and they going one way and taking great care with scant
margin for error, turning the corners slowly, lest they scrape their
paintwork. Most of the buildings are no more than three or four
floors, and all are old stone and stucco and the streets are cobbled,
which gives a strong impression of permanence altogether fitting for
one of the oldest cities in Europe, first settled by Phoenicians,
followed by Romans, Visigoths, and Moors, and then reconquered by
Catholic Spain in 1262. Columbus sailed from here, and other
explorers too, in their search for the wealth of other lands, the
silks and spices of the East which they paid for, and the silver and
gold of the Incas and Aztecs which they simply took. . . .
| Summer
Of The Peacock Sara Etgen-Baker (c) Copyright 2026 by Sara Etgen-Baker |
 Aunt Betty working at the Western Union office in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Photo of courtesy of the author |
I
was 14 when the
Greyhound rumbled into the Cape Girardeau bus depot, its chrome nose
gleaming like the eye of some futuristic mechanical beast. I stepped
onto the concrete, the air smelling of diesel fuel, oil leaks, and
the metallic tang of brake dust. The wind blowing off the Mississippi
River was hot and rattled the thin plastic umbrella I'd bought
at Stuckey's earlier that morning. Mother's voice echoed
in my head, a thread of reassurance: "Aunt Betty will take
good care of you, Sweetie Pie. Two weeks. That's all.". . .
More...
Damn Hippie VansGeorge R. Frost (c) Copyright 2026 by George R. Frost |
 Image by gweno333 from Pixabay |
You
never know when you will collide head-on into history. You may even
end up in a chapter as a minor character in a major even. That’s
what happened to us when dad decided he wanted to go on a nice
peaceful Sunday ride on a hot muggy August afternoon. Little did any
of us suspect we would find ourselves smack-dab in the middle of
major historical event. . . .
A Home Away From HomeAbbie Creed (c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Growing up in the
1930's was certainly quite different from today, but some
things don’t change. I came from a large, strong Irish Catholic
family. We lived in an Irish community called Limerick, where our
church, St. Louis Bertrand was at the center of our life. There were
nine children. All of us graduated from the parish school. My
brothers were altar servers, my dad sang in the church choir, and the
girls joined the Young Ladies Altar Sodality. . . .
More...
Jamaican Delightful DishesPoor Black Creation Now Expropriated By The Rich and Ethnic MinoritiesWinston Donald (c) Copyright 2026 by Winston Donald |
 Photo by Tim Samuelat Pexels. |
As
Black History
Month reaches its climax, there is one notable achievement by a black
majority country such as Jamaica that has not been mentioned
or rarely recognized--the food it currently shared with the
world. Jamaican dishes and food are delicious tasting food and
dishes, now expropriated and exploited by the ethnic minority,
especially big capital bearing white Jamaica. People may be
indifferent to this or just do not care, but what is factual cannot
be thrown under the carpet. . . .
|
Donkey Giles Ryan (c) Copyright 2026 by Giles Ryan |
 Painting by Honore Daumier: at Wikimedia Commons. |
I
am out and on the road quite early, when the moon still loiters in
the sky. She is a gibbous, left-handed moon, just off my shoulder as
I walk out in the half-dark, looking for a sign that will show me the
road. But soon the moon is gone, her soft light replaced by the
waking sun. I have not slept so very well and I walk on somewhat all
a-grumble, hardly a proper Nazarene spirit for someone who slept the
night in a church, but this soon passes, for I am cheered by the
rooster's reveille, the cheerful greetings of the farmyard dogs, and
the chorus of the songbirds, filling the air with their dawn
devotions. . . .
| The
Portal To Another World Sylvia Eze (c) Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze |
 Image by Armin Forster from Pixabay |
Oh,
I remember when someone once asked me, very confidently, "So…
how many countries have you been to?"
I said, "Six."
| The
One Who Thought She Had Arrived Sylvia Eze (c) Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze |
 Photo by Naele Souza at Pexels. |
I remember when I
first came to America. I'm a woman who grew up in the western
part of Africa, and I arrived with dreams.
Not small dreams.
| Water
And The Things With It Sylvia Eze (c) Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze |
 Photo by Glenn Haertlein on Unsplash |
I
remember watching Aquaman when I was
little--especially
the scene where the child actor, for
Jason
Momoa role's who was the main
character, was
being bullied. Because he was the king of the sea, he commanded all
the fish and sea creatures to thump against the glass, his eyes
glowing wildly. It terrified his bullies. Then there were the
underwater action scenes--dramatic, powerful, alive. . . .
|
Jim and Ronnie Dee
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Ronnie, Gramps, and Jim in Boonville, North Carolina. Photo courtesy of the author. (Click here... to listen to some of the music.) |
For
those of you who love reading these short stories, you have no doubt
noted the writings of my dear friend, my old pal, Ronnie Dee. I knew
there was a wealth of stories up there in his brain, and I was
anxious to get him to open the recesses of said receptacle, get his
life adventures out, dust them off, and put them in writing for us
all to enjoy. I am happy to say my gentle nudging has met with
remarkable success. Look him up! . . .
More...
What To Do If You Set A Moose On FireGeorge R. Frost (c) Copyright 2026 by George R. Frost |
 Photo by Chris Zhang on Unsplash |
Somewhere
in the Fish and Wildlife manual there is a small section about what
to do if you happen to set a Moose on fire. You know if there is a
section like this, it got there because it happened. Sure enough, a
story appeared in the Anchorage newspaper. As outrageous as it
sounds something like an O'Henry story coming to life, I will attest
that this account is one hundred percent true. The reason I am so
sure is because there was an eyewitness to this bizarre event who
provided photographs which the newspaper included along with the
story. . . .
|
TORNADO! |
In
the Spring of 1973, I ordered a brand new car. It was an AMC
Gremlin. AMC, at that time had Roger Penske, who was having a
lot of success in NASCAR and TransAm racing with two top of
the
line drivers, Bobby Allison and Mark Donahue at the wheel of the AMC
Matadors and Javelins. AMC and Penske later had a big dispute over
modifications to the cars and Penske went off on his own, with better
success than AMC, I opine.
For
the less financially successful folks, like me, they had the Gremlin.
It was a very nice car. It was small, but they even made a V8 model.
My sister-in-law and her husband bought one, with a stick. I bought
the six cylinder, red, automatic. We both went for the denim
interior. As I said, it was a neat little car with big tires and it
was the easiest car in the world to spot in a parking lot. . . .
| The
Incredible Orchard Karen Radford Treanor
© Copyright 2026 by Karen Radford Treanor
|
 One of the last of the unfortunate apple trees, still surviving--barely--in 1973. Photo courtesy of the author. |
. . . .Do
you have an Uncle Charlie? That may not be his name, but they share a
characteristic: an enormously fertile brain and little or no common
sense. Uncle Charlies have the most wonderful schemes for making
money fast--but for them the motherlode almost always turns out
to be fools' gold. They can dream up any number of ways to do
a task faster, easier, or cheaper--but somehow the result rarely
achieves any of those goals. . . .
|
Shadows On The Nile
|
That
evening, the Nile moved like a long breath under the fading sun,
quiet but alive, as if it carried secrets too heavy for the sky to
hold. In our village, we used to say that the river remembers
everything. It remembers the footsteps of fishermen who never
returned, the laughter of children who learned to swim in its shallow
edges, the whispered promises of lovers who believed the current
would carry their vows into forever. I did not understand what that
meant when I was younger. I only knew that when the sun began to sink
and shadows stretched across the water, something inside me would
grow still. . . .
More...
After high school, and a few wasted years, I finally got serious about something positive, playing music, and it started my transformation into an actual productive human being. I think I had been looking for a way out of my wicked ways, I just didn't know where to look.
I was always a singer. I learned my first song at age five, "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," a lovely tune taken from Frederick Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu, Op. 66, which was my mother's favorite song during World War II, and I serenaded her often. My second was Hank Williams', "Lovesick Blues," which I enjoyed singing the most. . . .
|
Music |
After high school, and a few wasted years, I finally got serious about something positive, playing music, and it started my transformation into an actual productive human being. I think I had been looking for a way out of my wicked ways, I just didn't know where to look.
I was always a singer. I learned my first song at age five, "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," a lovely tune taken from Frederick Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu, Op. 66, which was my mother's favorite song during World War II, and I serenaded her often. My second was Hank Williams', "Lovesick Blues," which I enjoyed singing the most. . . .
Her Last DayOllie Matthews (c) Copyright 2026 by Ollie Matthews |
 Photo by Jovan Vasiljević on Unsplash |
It's
the last time she'll do this. The last time she'll look
up from her desk at the audience of uninterested heads, some sleeping
on their workbooks, some chatting and playing. The last time she'll
get up and write the date on the whiteboard, the last time she'll
wait for silence, then call for it. The last time she'll shout
at this kid--the last time she'll shout at any kid. . . .
More...
I'm Not Afraid, So Don't You Be AfraidOllie Matthews (c) Copyright 2026 by Ollie Matthews |
 Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581. Painting by Ilya Repin courtesy of Wiikimedia Commons. |
Just
one place is all I need. I don't even need a table, just a
surface and a chair will do. I'm looking through the windows.
Every room in the pub is packed. Every chair is taken; the tables are
piled high with plates and glasses and bottles. There are people of
all ages, even children--football fans in their sky-blue shirts
and scarves. The hubbub escapes through the windows. The rain seeps
through my coat onto my shoulders. My hands are pink, stinging from
the cold. The buses and taxis rip across the wet asphalt. Umbrellas
clash at the crossing. The lights in the puddles are brighter than
the street lights above. . . .
More...
The Main Thing In Life Is MumOllie Matthews (c) Copyright 2026 by Ollie Matthews |
 Photo by Katja Rooke on Unsplash |
A
platoon of Russian servicemen were the only other guests in the
restaurant. Their table was piled high with glasses and bottles. They
were all late thirties and forties, short-haired, muscular. They were
clinking fresh glasses of beer and shouting over each other.
|
Milestones
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
In June of 1960, I turned nineteen. Back then, all of us guys were
concerned about the draft, and I had been thinking about it since
registering. Those friends who were in college were safe, as long as
their grades were good, but I had chosen to go to work right out of
high school and take a few classes at the University of Louisville at
night, until I had a better idea of what the heck I wanted to do with
my life. Vietnam had begun to heat up, and when Lyndon Johnson became
President, it would worsen. . . .
Hate Sees Only A Part Of A BeingLaura Labno (c) Copyright 2026 by Laura Labno |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
'To
the Man who loves, people are set free from the qualities of good and
evil, wise or foolish, and confront him in their singleness as Thou.
Hence love is not an enjoyment of a wonderful emotion, not even the
ecstasy of Tristane and Isolde, but the responsibility of an I for a
Thou.' - Martin
Buber
More...
|
Hair |
Photo by Sasun Bughdaryan on Unsplash |
I
got my first haircut when I was three. I had long, curly blond locks
and my mother cried when Louie the barber cut it off. I got my hair
cut a few more times by Louie the Barber and I was always good. He
would wave his straight razor around and threaten to "make a
baloney sausage" out of me if I misbehaved. . . .
|
Billy
Joe |
|
I
don't know if there was a kid like this in every neighborhood, but
there should have been. Billy Joe was a real hoot. Even us kids knew
he was looney. The first thing the neighborhood mothers told a new
arrival was, "Keep your child away from Billy Joe," and we
would be so admonished. So naturally, the first kid we saw on the
street would be asked, "Hey, where does this Billy Joe
live?". . . .
| Jacelyn An excerpt from a work in progress Bruce Rosenke (c) Copyright 2026 by Bruce Rosenke |
 Photo by Susan T. Cook at Wikimedia Commons. |
Jacelyn
Hiram had her double bed moved out, although it wasn't
necessarily an easy decision, the urge to keep it as a shrine was
strong!
She now sleeps on a bottom bunk, Mary, Sasha, and Stanley, sleep together on the other bottom bunk every night. Bruce had built safety rails on the top bunks, and since they are installed, a 'sleep-over' for 6 is possible, but that hasn't happened yet, 'If William was here it would have happened often!' are Jacelyn's thoughts as she cleans the room. She does enjoy the extra floor space, this room of less than 150 square feet barely had room to shuffle sideways, let alone touch-dance; her and William did that on the bed. Jacelyn's body misses William, but not as much as her soul does. . . .
|
The Earth That Sustains
Us Kelly Maida (c) Copyright 2026 by Kelly Maida |
 Photograph by Nolen Boyd at Wikimedia Commons. Young Rial Redding, third generation of Reddings who have ranched in Sarpy Basin, joins the resistance movement. The Reddings have refused to sell to the Westmoreland Coal Company, 06/1973. U.S. National Archives' Local Identifier: 412-DA-6657 |
I
started writing this because of the litter that I see on a daily
basis. I see people throwing their cigarettes and garbage around.
This turned into something much more than that. Littering has
a
ripple effect that harms us all.
I grew up watching commercials that talked about the importance of not littering. Some had owls saying give a hoot and don't pollute. Or Indians crying over the mess that is on the earth. I wish that we had more reminders of this now. . . .
I grew up watching commercials that talked about the importance of not littering. Some had owls saying give a hoot and don't pollute. Or Indians crying over the mess that is on the earth. I wish that we had more reminders of this now. . . .
More...
A Fireside ChatValerie Forde-Galvin (c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Forde-Galvin |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
It's
late
evening at the Meredith home. The family is asleep upstairs while
here in the living room, from my established place on the sofa, I
observe the domestic scene. Dog lies by the fireplace where the
remnants of a fire still produce some heat. In her cage hanging from
the rafters, Canary appears hypnotized by the dying embers. But don't
be fooled. The girl is smarter than she looks. As usual, Goldfish
takes his methodical laps around his bowl, unaware of his
surroundings. And yet there are times when even Goldfish displays a
glimmer of intelligence. . . .
The Man Of RenownAbbie Creed (c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed |
 Image by Artur Skoniecki from Pixabay |
When
the youngest of my six children and the last of my five boys, was a
2nd
grader attending our parish school, he had many friends, including my
next-door neighbor's son. The school was large, having three
classrooms for each of the eight grades. Some of them walked to
school cutting through our back yard.
When
one of the 2nd
grade teachers had a health breakdown, the pastor called and asked me
to teach that class for the next half of the school year. I was not a
certified teacher but was the 2nd
grade teacher of religious education for our Sunday School. Since I
had five boys, he felt strongly that I could do what needed to be
done. . . .
More...
|
Chasing Rabbits Kelly Maida (c) Copyright 2026 by Kelly Maida |
 Image by love4musoc1972 at Pixabay |
Is
your food and drinks sending you down rabbit holes?
Did you ever notice life was like an Alice n Wonderland story? Pretty packages on our foods and drinks that basically say eat me or drink me! While they send you down a rabbit hole craving more? Maybe the white bunny stands for sugar. And the world is constantly chasing it. The bunny keeps running because we newer seem to satisfy the sugar or food cravings. . . .
Did you ever notice life was like an Alice n Wonderland story? Pretty packages on our foods and drinks that basically say eat me or drink me! While they send you down a rabbit hole craving more? Maybe the white bunny stands for sugar. And the world is constantly chasing it. The bunny keeps running because we newer seem to satisfy the sugar or food cravings. . . .
Cheap Beer And PizzaGeorge R. Frost (c) Copyright 2026 by George R. Frost |
 Photo of the author. |
This is the story
of the last dinner I shared with my mother on December 23, 2002.
My brother Tom called me to let me know that mom's lymphoma had gone terminal. I called Alaskan Airlines for a flight out of Anchorage, Alaska to Syracuse, New York. It was the holiday season, but I managed to get a flight out that day. . . .
More...| More
From 35th Street Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
The
first little adventure of my life happened on Amy Avenue when I was
just a few months old. I was in my Taylor-Tot walker one morning when
the Donaldson man delivered the bread. They would actually open the
front door and put the stuff inside. This was 1939 and bakery goods,
ice, and even groceries were delivered daily. Doctors made house
calls and medications were delivered. The Donaldson Bakery was the
most well known in town. They delivered baked goods of all sorts all
over town. They used horse drawn trucks into the mid 1950's when they
switched to motorized vehicles. . . .
| The
Magic Table Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Photo by Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The Nation Gallery of Wales at Unsplash |
My
family had a little bit of magic or something else going on for
years. I have seen references to something like this from time to
time, but no one can explain exactly what it is. But I have witnessed
it and I have no reason to make up something so
silly. . . .
A Blast From The PastValerie Forde-Galvin (c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Forde-Galvin |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
When
lightning strikes, our tour bus skids to a stop. A clap of thunder is
immediately followed by an ominous crack and a giant oak tree crashes
onto the road. Suddenly an entire tree top looms in front of us. The
engine cuts out and, from the driver's seat, Manny leans
forward to look out the still intact windshield with its view now
completely blocked by leafy branches. He holds up two fingers. "Two
inches," he proclaims theatrically. "Just two friggin'
inches there was between us and death.". . .
Circus DaysThomas Turman (c) Copyright 2026 by Thomas Turman |
 Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay |
The
door of the red, worn railroad car is scraped open by a short, bald
guy and the breath-stopping animal smell whooshes down the wood ramp. I
wait, straining to see into the opening. Then my world changes
forever. Out comes an elephant and then another and then another
right toward me. The three of them delicately sway down the ramp
confidently backing up all of us there to greet them.
But I take two tentative steps toward them. . . .
But I take two tentative steps toward them. . . .
|
My New Sparta
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
It
was 1951, and my Christmas present was a new Sparta box camera, with
a flip open viewfinder, and a flash attachment. I couldn't wait
to get that thing working, and since there were no film or flashbulbs
included in the box, I asked dad if "Stiles Drugstore might be
open," and he said, "Brent is always there, and I’m
sure he’s open today.". . .
More...
| A
Broken Humerus Is Not Funny Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Chrisnorlin at the English Wikipedia courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
This
time I got hurt. I totaled three cars during my adventures and
received minor injuries in the other two, but this time I got it
pretty good. It began like the others. I was driving home drunk one
rainy night in February, 1971. I don't remember exactly what
happened, but when the road took a sharp right, I kept going straight
and ended up banging into a tree and broke my right arm in half. I do
remember being awakened by two policemen helping me out of the car. I
had been knocked unconscious and was in great pain. I didn't know how
long I had been out. . . .
|
Strange Bedfellows
Valerie Byron (c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Byron |
|
The
Bells were a strange family. Not that I knew them that well,
mind
you. I'd lived next door for just a few years and from what the
neighbors told me, the husband seemed quite hen-pecked. I'd see him
sitting in front of the window as I walked by, just staring into
space. She was always there, constantly nagging at him, pulling and
pushing, wanting her way. I often wondered why he put up with it,
seeing as how he was such a sweet, mild-mannered sort. . . .
When The Words Came BackCybil Koudsi (c) Copyright 2025 by Cybil Koudsi |
 Image by Cornelia Schneider-Frank from Pixabay |
For
as long as I could remember, I had been terrified of public speaking.
Not a mild nervousness, not the kind of fear that fades once you
start talking, but the kind that felt alive, like it knew exactly
when to show up and how to corner me. Every time I was told I had to
present in front of my class, it felt as though the world itself were
collapsing inward, the walls closing in while public speaking stood
there waiting, patient and smug, daring me to fail. . . .
Stephanie's LightJudith Nakken (c) Copyright 2026 by Judith Nakken |
 Photo courtesy of Wikipedia. |
She
was sitting on her backpack outside the Welcome to Oregon rest stop,
and it was beginning to rain. Hippie-type bands and jangles were
incongruous on the fortyish face that asked a silent question through
the open passenger's window, there on a summer Sunday in 1989.
"I'm going almost to Portland," I answered, "staying here on I-84 all the way. But I'm late for a rendezvous and can't stop for anything.". . .
"I'm going almost to Portland," I answered, "staying here on I-84 all the way. But I'm late for a rendezvous and can't stop for anything.". . .
More...
| Spin
Out Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Dextar Vision on Unsplash |
This
one may have been the most puzzling encounter of
all. It
was 1970, I still had my 340 Duster, and as always, I was zooming
down the Watterson Xway one early evening when I almost missed my
turn off at Breckenridge Lane. I guess I was just daydreaming, which
was nothing new for me, and I swerved onto the ramp, but turned too
sharply and began to spin. A bad driving mistake by me. I don't know
how fast I was going, but I was sliding down the ramp going around
and around real fast.
|
Boy
Scouts vs. Wrestlers
|
|
One
thing my grandmother and some of her church friends tried to do to me
was get me in the Boy Scouts. Now, I have nothing personally against
the Boy Scouts. I am sure it is a wonderful organization for boys. It
just so happens that I was not one of those boys.
I knew at this point in time there were some rumblings about my behavior and what to do with me. I know that she did not want me incarcerated, but she was reaching the end of her rope. So some misguided soul from church suggested to her that I might like the boy scouts. . . .
I knew at this point in time there were some rumblings about my behavior and what to do with me. I know that she did not want me incarcerated, but she was reaching the end of her rope. So some misguided soul from church suggested to her that I might like the boy scouts. . . .
| Chasing
Sunsets Sara Etgen-Baker (c) Copyright 2026 by Sara Etgen-Baker |
 Mike and Sara 1967. Photo of courtesy of the author |
I
remember the day I first saw him. Glancing out our living room
window, I noticed a boy about my age slowly walking down the
sidewalk. He wasn't just any boy, but a boy whose face and arms
were completely wrapped in white bandages, resembling an Egyptian
mummy as he shuffled down the leaf-covered sidewalk. . . .
The School Of 3 CornersAlbert W. Caron, Jr. (c) Copyright 2026 by Albert W. Caron, Jr. |
 Photo by Sven Kucinic on Unsplash |
Sex,
drugs and Rock ‘n Roll. Those were the major subjects of
The School of 3 Corners. I attended this street school six decades
ago for three consecutive summers. This school was popular for us
adolescent boys since we learned more about awkward changes in our
bodies and voices than at home. Disguising these "educational"
courses from my parents, I told them that we "studied"
biology, chemistry and music to get a jump on some subjects in
preparation for high school in the fall. They bought it. . . .
|
Memories From The Heart Kelly Maida (c) Copyright 2026 by Kelly Maida |
 Photo by Pixabay at Pexels. |
Certain
photos we love having around us to remind us of beautiful memories.
It took me a long time to be okay to actually have pictures out of
Klaus. My cat Niklaus passed away a year ago. I called him Klaus or
Klaus mouse for short. He had a lot of cute nicknames. I also called
him poppers for Mr. Poppers Penguins because he liked that movie. I
put all his stuff away hidden in a closet when he died. It took me a
year to start taking out his pictures. I slowly started taking out
pictures and I just put his ashes by my bed. It takes time getting
over grief. I didn't think I would ever be able to look at his
pictures again without breaking down. . . .
|
35
For 35 |
|
We
had some kind and helpful neighbors on 35th Street. This was in the
West End of Louisville in the fifties, when people weren't so
suspicious of each other. Neighbors would knock on your door and ask, "Do you need anything from the grocery today?"
In
today's society my family would never have been able to live our
lives pretty much unaffected by bureaucracy as we did back in the
forties and fifties. Somehow we always had enough to eat and
wonderful Christmases. . . .
One Way BridgePamella Laird (c) Copyright 2026 by Pamella Laird |
 Photo by Eric A. Hegg
Photographs at Wikimedia Commons.
|
The
thud of the hull against the jetty woke Jock Duncan from a feverish
sleep. "Bloody hell! What was that?" His whole being
throbbed.
A
fierce draught, swirling and moaning from the mast and stays, like a
blast from a polar ice cap, added to his misery. He struggled to pull
a padded jacket around his shoulders. As awkward as an old man, he
searched for the sleeve-holes. Not in his wildest nightmares had it
ever crossed his mind, that living this unconventional life of
freedom, might one day be his downfall. . . .
|
Duster
and Maverick |
|
No, this is not about a cattle drive. It is about a couple of automobiles.
There
was one especially scary incident that I remember clearly to this
day. It was the night I turned Indiana Highway 62 into a speedway. I
was leaving the Storefront Congregation, a folk music bar in
Louisville, when some guy I barely knew asked for a ride home. I was
feeling generous and said, "Sure, why not," and off we
went. . . .
|
The Sun and The Sea Savannah Ucha  (c) Copyright 2026 by Savannah Ucha |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
It
isn't until the clearing of trees, wet and happy from the
recent rains that have come down on Santa Barbara, that I can finally
see the top of the mountain. My legs rumble beneath me, threatening
to give out. With the sun shining through at its peak, the hand
before me unrecognizable, the leathered skin sprinkled with sunspots
so foreign, signaling a life long lived. The power of the sun
reflects through the vast ocean's surface, a mixture of blue
whiteness speaking to me, commanding me to stay as my own life ebbs
away. . . .
|
Goodbyes |
My wife, Donna, had a thing that she told me about several times. It was a recurring dream in which she was killed in an automobile accident when she was thirty five years old.
I
tried to reassure her that it was only a dream and not to dwell on
it. On October 5, 1983 we received a phone call at about 10:00 pm
that Beverly, her older sister, had been killed in a single car
accident. It still pains me to think of that night. Beverly was
thirty seven years old, Donna was thirty five. . . .
|
Adventures
In The Green Truck |
|
One
drunken night in the Pub Steakhouse, closing time came and as often
happened, I still wasn't ready to call it a night. It was 2:00, but
the only person left to party with was some old guy with whom I had
conversed off and on during the evening. I didn't even know his name,
but it didn't matter if he wanted to drink some more, so off we went
in his car. . . .
|
A Colorful World Anya Higman (c) Copyright 2025 by Anya Higman |
 Photo by stephen henni at Unsplash. |
. . . .From
the top of the stairs, Alina watched the red and blue lights flash
through the transom above the door, and then flood into the entryway
as her mother's pale hand tentatively reached, turned the knob,
and pulled. Two men in dark clothes filled the doorway, one took off
his hat and bowed his head, and said something that Alina could not
hear from her position half concealed behind the banister. There
passed a brief pause, and her mother crumpled against the door frame,
the man who had taken off his hat rushing to catch her. . . .
|
The
Z Bar |
|
The
Zanzibar was a bar/club in Louisville that was in business from 1938
until the 1980's. Known far and wide as the Z Bar, or simply the Z,
it was my hangout for eight or ten years. It closed in the 80's,
operated under another name for years and reopened in 2008 as the
Zanzabar, with an "a." So to make matters clear, the Z Bar
I hung out in had no affiliation to the current one as far as I know. . . .
|
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
Dina Bern (c) Copyright 2025 by Dina Bern |
|
Sara
sat in the kitchen of her home in Richmond Hill, Queens, slowly
sipping warm tea from a large white cup. From her seat at the table,
she watched the two grandchildren of her recently deceased brother
with a mix of relief and happiness. The five-year-old twins,
Daniel--named after her brother, whom she called "Danny"--and
Michael, were the spitting image of him. . . .
The Ghosts Of Christmas PastKelly Maida (c) Copyright 2025 by Kelly Maida |
 The Ghost of Christmas Past - Dickens, Charles. A Christmas Carol in Prose: being a Ghost Story of Christmas. Il. Sol Eytinge, Jr. Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1868 at Wikimedia Commons. |
There
is a quote that I love by Jim Morrison. Death makes Angels of all of
us. When people die I think we put people on a pedestal. We quickly
forget anything wrong they did. We think of them as almost god like
in a way. Until we have had some time to heal our wounds. Death is a
traumatic experience. Especially if you lose someone close to you.. . . .
|
Stupid Cupid (William Shakespeare 1593, and Connie Francis 1958, re-visited. An onstage playscript.) Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Parmigianino: Cupid Sleeping at Metropolitan Museum of Art courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
(A
roll of thunder, streaks of lightning, a person screaming. In a
thunder crash, an object that looks like a human body curled up,
catapults onstage; rolls along erratically; exits. Fairy Moth rushes
in; looks about;;cautiously tracks the object's course; stops,
hearing approaching sounds. Fairy Cobweb enters, warily. At
intervals, they react to thunderous rumblings as objects fall from
the sky crashing to the ground at different distances.). . . .
|
Cookies
and Candy |
|
Christmas
was always a fun time. I loved Christmas and all of the excitement
that surrounded it. My grandmother felt the same and she went all out
starting in early December. She was a master baker and after
my
sister got married, I was her assistant. She made a tremendous
assortment of cookies and candies for the season. She made sugar
cookies and pinwheels. She crafted pfeffernusse, which we called
peppernuts, and springerles. . . .
|
Olden Times Nightmare (William Shakespeare's 'Dream' re-visited. An onstage playscript.) Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo of terracotta amphora at Metropolitan Museum of Art courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
(In
a jungle, a Minotaur beast bursts on, roaring. It rampages around,
sniffs the ground, and exits, running with a purpose.
King
Theseus enters hurriedly from a different direction; in pyjamas;
lights his way by a small oil lamp he holds; is fearful, bewildered
by Minotaur roars; moves about aimlessly. Queen Hippolyta enters; in
pyjamas; lights her way by a small oil lamp she holds.)
|
School |
|
. . . .The year I had
to enroll in school. I immediately hated it and that feeling only
grew as I aged. I started in first grade, bypassing
kindergarten, and several years later, following an IQ test, I was
allowed to skip the third grade. I turned seventeen in March of 1956
and finally graduated high school in May. I absolutely despised going
to school, as I considered it a colossal bore and waste of my time.
. . .
More...
|
Gorillas Galore An Onstage Play Script Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Valentin Jorel on Unsplash |
. . . .An adult Gorilla
ambles onstage from upstage-left on the road. It pauses; inspects the
shelter; goes behind the shelter; climbs up the tree, and is
partially visible through the tree foliage, maneuvering to lay down
to rest, and eventually laying still on the roof.
Character NON1 walks on, on the road, upstage-right, slowly pushing a wheelbarrow heavily loaded with stuff. Character NON2 enters, running on the road from upstage-left; sees NON1, and stops for seconds to scream to NON1.
NON2: Run for your life! The wild animals have escaped the Circus! Some are coming this way! . . .
Character NON1 walks on, on the road, upstage-right, slowly pushing a wheelbarrow heavily loaded with stuff. Character NON2 enters, running on the road from upstage-left; sees NON1, and stops for seconds to scream to NON1.
NON2: Run for your life! The wild animals have escaped the Circus! Some are coming this way! . . .
|
Otto
The Grouch |
|
My
grandmother put up with a lot from me as I was raised without any
male influences in my life. Mom was just too softhearted to be a
disciplinarian, so I got away with too much. But I loved her very
much and I would never abandon her, but I did give her a lot of
grief. It was not always intended, like the time I threw
the dress she made herself for my sister's wedding, in the
trash. . . .
|
Valcarlos Giles Ryan (c) Copyright 2025 by Giles Ryan |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
From
St. Jean Pied de Port in the far south of France there are two ways
across the Pyrenees and both recall invasion. One is Napoleon's
route and the other is the Valcarlos road, and in this instance
Carlos means Charlemagne, whose army came this way in the eighth
century to battle with Islam and--when the opportunity arose--steal whatever treasure they found in their
path.
. . .Early in the morning we pass through the Spanish Gate and out of
this ancient citadel and take Charlemagne's road, but still my
thoughts wander off to Napoleon's soldiers and the terrible
fate they met. My thoughts go back to 1808, when an army of 25,000,
many of them young recruits from the Bordeaux region, crossed these
mountains to invade Spain. All these men came to regret it and very
few ever made it home. . . .
More...
| Trouble
On And Off The Highway Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Dietmar Rabich at Wikimedia Commons. |
Fords
were the thing back in the early 60's in my neighborhood, but I had a
neat looking 1950 Chevrolet Fastback, black with red rims and white
sidewalls that I really liked. It was the first car I had that wasn't
basically junk. It ran great with the one exception being a trip to
Columbus, Ohio with my grandmother.
We left one summer day for the 200 mile journey to Columbus. This was in the days just before the interstate and we had to go up old Highway 42 to Cincinnati, pick up Highway 22 to Washington Court House and then Highway 62 into Columbus. It was a narrow and twisty route, but the only way to go. . . .
We left one summer day for the 200 mile journey to Columbus. This was in the days just before the interstate and we had to go up old Highway 42 to Cincinnati, pick up Highway 22 to Washington Court House and then Highway 62 into Columbus. It was a narrow and twisty route, but the only way to go. . . .
| Walking
The Expressway Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Aakash Marshal Aravind Raj on Unsplash. |
Now
I admit to drinking a lot of beer in my life, but I was never really
into drugs. I smoked pot off and on for a couple years and took a few
pills as a teen, but that was it. But beer can get one to do some
crazy things, too. . . .
|
Elephant Voices Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Markus-Bluthner at Unsplash. |
A family of ants lived in a tunnel high up in a mountain.
Ant-One and Ant-Two were brother and sister. As far as Ant-One and Ant-Two knew, no ant had ever traveled to the other end of their tunnel. . . .
| Joe's
Drugs Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.. |
Before
I got a real job, and even after, for a while, I worked at Joe's
Pharmacy for a few months. That was a trip. Joe, the pharmacist and
owner of the store, was a good guy and put up with a lot from me and
the other neighborhood kids. Joe kept me pretty busy and his father
would come in often and make sure I didn't have any idle minutes. . . .
|
Music + Love = Life
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 L to R--Bob Bush, bass-Ted Harlan, mandolin & vocals-Jim Cowles, guitar and lead vocals-Eddie Hysinger, harps and dobro,-Jim Allen, banjo and vocals. Photo courtesy of the author. |
Some
might say, when I was a child, my family was poor, but I have come to
realize just how very rich we were. It was 1917 the early twentieth
century, when my dad finished his junior year of high school at
Edmonton County High School, then decided it would be best for him if
he started making a living. Dad quit school, and went to work in a
hard rock mine. That was 1917, and he was sixteen years old; very
hard work for a young man. . . .
|
The Magical Jungle Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Pok Rie at Pexels. |
There
was a wild jungle. No person had ever entered it. From forever it had
been home to animals only.
On this particular day all the animals from the jungle sat on top of the low wall of stone which was a section of the stone circle around their jungle. They stared in disappointment and fear at what they saw.
There, in a clearing outside their jungle, not far away, were many construction and demolition vehicles driven by people. Some people were arriving. Others already there were slowly maneuvering their massive vehicles to park. . . .
On this particular day all the animals from the jungle sat on top of the low wall of stone which was a section of the stone circle around their jungle. They stared in disappointment and fear at what they saw.
There, in a clearing outside their jungle, not far away, were many construction and demolition vehicles driven by people. Some people were arriving. Others already there were slowly maneuvering their massive vehicles to park. . . .
|
About Last Night. . . Hassan Hayes (c) Copyright 2025 by Hassan Hayes |
 Photo courtesy of Pexels. |
The
constant antibacterial
shots and blood tests were draining me.
The doctor told me I would need to meet with several specialists to
guide
me through my
recovery process. "Physical therapy for you will consist of some motor skills
tests. Then, we will proceed to your exercises to help you regain
your strength and cognitive abilities," she said. . . .
| Beer
And Pitchers Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Egin Akyurt at Pexels. |
I've
heard it said that beer is the staff of life. I love beer and I have
been drinking it most of my life. As a child I would be given a few
sips and then half a glass on special nights. I envied the kids from
the middle ages who got to drink beer all the time because the water
was unfit to drink. Since watching the beer trucks do their business
at The Pub on 34th Street as a child, to hanging out and performing
in The Pub Steakhouse on Fifth Street as an adult, beer was always my
drink of choice. . . .
|
Giraffe And Zebra Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo courtesy_Du_Parc_Zoologique_de_Hann_06 at Wikimedia Commons. |
Zebra
was walking along through the tall grass. She was going to the river
to have a drink of water. As she passed a clump of low bushes on her
way, she heard "Pssst!"
Zebra stopped. She looked around. Wild animals have to pay attention to all sounds because at any time some other animal could jump out and eat them. . . .
Zebra stopped. She looked around. Wild animals have to pay attention to all sounds because at any time some other animal could jump out and eat them. . . .
| What,
A Family? Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo by Chad Montgomery on Unsplash |
Fortunately "Momboo," our maternal grandmother,
saved my sister and me from an orphanage or foster care by taking us
to raise. We had lived with her all our lives except for a year or so
when mother remarried and our stepfather wanted it to be just us four
as a family. . . .
| In The Zagros Mountains
Eva Bell
(c) Copyright 2025 by Eva Bell
|
 Photo by Parastoo Maleki on Unsplash
|
In
1977, I spent a whole year among the Kurds of Iran. About a third of
the world's Kurdish population lived in those high Zagros
ranges. They had given up their nomadic existence and settled down
here after the Shah of Iran brought in social reforms and gave them
agricultural land. The mountains stood like sentinels, segregating
these people from the rest of Iran. To a large extent, they had
preserved their racial purity, their customs, their language, and
were more or less a law unto themselves. . . .
|
The First Of Many
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
It
was a 1940 Ford Deluxe, two door sedan, flathead V8. I was sixteen
years old, and had just got my license, and now my first car was
sitting in my back yard. . . .
| Somewhat
Uneasy Rider Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
My
grandmother would always tell me to be careful when I went out on my
motorcycle and I would say, "I will," but of course, if I
was worried about being careful, I wouldn't have bought a motorcycle
in the first place. But I understood and I loved her for it, but she
was now gone and I was on my own. . . .
|
The Bicycle Chronicles
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of Laurenkategriffiths at Facebook. |
Back
in the 50s, almost every kid owned a bicycle. As I remember, it was
almost a necessity for me to have one. It wasn't so much because I
needed to get from one place to another with it, but rather, it was
just to keep up with my friends. After all, they all owned a bike. A
big "26 incher". . . .
| Cars Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Like most guys my age, I loved cars, especially fast ones. I grew up in an era of hot cars in the 1950's and 60's. American Graffiti is one of my favorite movies. I didn't own a hot car in those days, I couldn't afford one, not until 1970, but I got to drive a few. I loved them, but they didn't always love me back. I had a few wrecks and broke my humerus, my nose, got knocked unconscious, had a slow moving car run over my foot (that really hurt, but my friends thought it was a riot) and fell out of a moving car. That one was actually kind of funny.
It
seems that Bud and I were going to visit a couple of girls and we
went in his 1950 Ford 2-door. Nineteen forty nine and fifty Fords
were ubiquitous in the late 50's and early 60's, at least in
Louisville. Most of them were black two-doors. This particular one was
OK except for the passenger side door, which could malfunction from
time to time. . . .
| Love
Hurts Ronnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee
|
 Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay |
. . . .It was during my first year of
employment when I had a horrible incident, which was not dangerous,
but was on display for half the neighborhood and I wondered if I
would ever live it down. I hesitated to put it down on paper, but it
was a life lesson, even if I didn't want it to be. It involved a
girl, of course, a beautiful and talented girl I met at work. She was
hired to do some part time typing and I fell head over heels for her
immediately. . . .
|
Asteroid Apophis Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Huge Asteroid Apophis Flies By Earth on Friday the 13th in 2029. A Lucky Day for Scientists Graphic courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
"Near-Earth
asteroid Apophis is a potentially hazardous asteroid that will pass
close to Earth on
April Friday 13, 2029. It will come about 20,000 miles (32,000
kilometers) from our planet's surface, closer than the distance
of many satellites in geosynchronous orbit (about 22,236 miles, or
36,000 kilometers, in altitude)."
NASA report in 2004.
Singing In The Drain DitchMorf Morford (c) Copyright 2025 by Morf Morford |
 Photo by Andrew Patrick at Pexels. |
It
wasn’t Valhalla--but then again, maybe it was. . .
During my last year or so of high school, and for a year or two afterwards, some friends of mine took up a peculiar activity.
My parents had a grass-filled drainage ditch across the front of the house I grew up in.
It was a alongside a road at a crossroads, with a stop sign directly across.
Somehow one of us had discovered how perfectly ergonomic and comfortable this drainage ditch was.
During my last year or so of high school, and for a year or two afterwards, some friends of mine took up a peculiar activity.
My parents had a grass-filled drainage ditch across the front of the house I grew up in.
It was a alongside a road at a crossroads, with a stop sign directly across.
Somehow one of us had discovered how perfectly ergonomic and comfortable this drainage ditch was.
The Pioneer HouseHow I Came To Live In A MuseumRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo by Dominic Chasse on Unsplash |
My
first near-death incident occurred when I was a toddler. It
was
1939 and I was battling a bout of asthma and had been placed in my
crib with an atomizer to give off steam. An army blanket had been
placed over the top of the crib to keep the steam inside. Somehow the
blanket caught on fire and I can vaguely remember heat and a lot of
commotion and somebody grabbing me out of the crib. Luckily my mother
had been in the room or had just come in the room when the fire
started and she yanked the blanket off of the crib and grabbed
me. . . .
Fifty Shades of Gray, Green, and Impossible BlueMorf Morford (c) Copyright 2025 by Morf Morford |
 Seattle skyline with Mt. Rainier in background. Photo by Lalit Gupta on Unsplash |
I
live in the Pacific Northwest. That means the upper left corner of
the contiguous 48 states.
Our reputation is of rain. But if you know real rain, you won't find it here.
I live in what is known as a drizzle belt. . . .
Our reputation is of rain. But if you know real rain, you won't find it here.
I live in what is known as a drizzle belt. . . .
You're RightFredrick Hudgin (c) Copyright 2025 by Fredrick Hudgin |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
In
1982, my wife and I went to an after-work Christmas party on the
Friday before Christmas. It was hosted by some friends at the bank
where we both worked. The host brought out some expensive gin, and my
wife and I had too much to drink. But we were in South San Francisco,
it was approaching midnight, and our home was forty miles away in
Concord. . . .
I'll just be careful," I told her as we walked to her car. . . .
I'll just be careful," I told her as we walked to her car. . . .
SuzieRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
was born Ronald Lee Durbin, on the cusp of World War II, on March 18,
1939 (Man, that's a long time ago) at Amy and Michigan Avenues in
Louisville, Kentucky, in a lovely working class area known as the West
End. I joined my five year old sister, Doris Lee. My father,
Butch, joined the Army shortly thereafter and we moved to Fort Knox,
Goldville, KY. Shortly after that, my parents divorced and shortly
after that, Butch was in a bus accident and lost a leg. He never
found it. . . .
A Memorable LunchWarren Blake (c) Copyright 2023 by Warren Blake |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
numerous uninhabited islands of the South China Sea have long been
the hunting grounds of a nomadic group of people known as Orang Laut
(Men of the Sea) in Malay, and as Sea Gypsies in the popular
press. Anthropologists prefer the term Sea Nomads. In four
decades of exploring these waters in my yacht I came slowly to know
many of them, to be privileged to be able to help them out on
numerous occasions. On one occasion I allied myself with them
in a potentially violent encounter with oppressors and in later years I was able
to comfort myself that I and my vessel were of good enough repute
amongst them that I might rely on their expert help freely given
should I ever find myself in a nautical emergency out there. . . .
Christmas In BoonvilleRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo by Amel Uzunovic at Pexels. |
I
once played in a folk music group called The Riverfront Ramblers. It
was formed by my good friend Ed Adams, and I was asked to join in the
fall of 1978. For a while we numbered anywhere from four to thirteen
performers. Thirteen was the number when we played at an all day
festival in New Albany, Indiana in October of '78. . . .
Watching The WildcatsRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
. . . .One evening at our
house I was fiddling with the radio dial and came across something that
sounded exciting. I listened for a while and discovered that it was a
basketball game between the University of Kentucky and an
underdetermined opponent.
I was six years old, and I thought, "Wow, that was pretty neat," So I began searching for more games on the radio every night. I was often rewarded and became a real sports fan. . . .
More...
Never Play With GunsRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Image by Simon from Pixabay. |
It
was the occasion of Bud's wife's birthday party. It was at her
parents house and Sandra's stepfather, Harry, was drunk and in a bad
mood because her real father, Ralph, had been there and left after a
very short visit. Harry took it as an affront and told Brad he needed
to see Ralph and have it out with him. So we took him over to Ralph's
house. On the way, Bud jokingly told Harry that he might need a gun
and showed him a pistol he kept in the glove compartment. We laughed, "Ha Ha," and when we pulled into Ralph's driveway, Harry
started to get out of the car and quickly reached in and grabbed the
gun. . . .
How To Handle A BullyRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo by RDNE Stock project at Pexels. |
School
bullies are a big problem for a lot of kids throughout the world,
actually. They usually prey on smaller kids, who might be quiet, or
soft spoken, or kind of nerdy. Bullies love guys who won't fight
back, but sometimes you just have to. Bullies don't like that because
they can't really win that way. Even though they may win the fight,
there is a chance their intended victim may hurt them or even win. So
they usually pick on guys who won't fight back. . . .
The Horse RideRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
At
the Courier-Journal newspaper, we would often get some rich kid on
college furlough, shoved off on us for the summer. I guess to
show "the value of hard work" or something. This
particular year we got the son of the vice president of a large
company, who had recently moved from Chicago. There were seven of us
youngsters and we were a fairly raucous bunch. Sometimes these summer
guys were real duds, but this kid was a hoot. His name was
Gary
and he fit right in. . . .
Quite A Trip To St. LouisRonnie Dee (c) Copyright 2025 by Ronnie Dee |
 Photo of Busch stadium in St. Louis by Ronni Kurtz on Unsplash |
While on vacation in June of 1967, I
noticed that my beloved San Francisco Giants were coming to St. Louis
to play the Cardinals. I hadn't seen a major league baseball game
outside of Cincinnati in a while and I thought I'd go. Airfare from
Louisville to St. Louis was pretty inexpensive, so I could leave one
day, go to the game, spend the night in a hotel and come back the next
day. Cool, I decided to do just that. I didn't know what an
unforgettable experience it would turn out to be. . . .
More...
A Vampire Lover's Guide To TransylvaniaSteven P. Unger (c) Copyright 2025 by Steven P. Unger |
 Photo of the wolf dragon reproduced with the permission of Shane Solow, ©Lost Trails, LLC |
. . . On the hour-long bus ride from
Bistrita (pronounced
Bee·STREET·zah), where the novel Dracula begins,
to the Borgo Pass, I imagined Bram Stoker poring over maps and
photographs and manuscripts in the tiny library of Whitby, England,
and in the Reading Room of London's British Museum, conjuring up a
vision of Jonathan Harker's passage by coach to Count Dracula's
castle over the same terrain in Transylvania. . . .
The Rest Of You Can Do Whatever You WantClarice Chan (c) Copyright 2025 by Clarice Chan |
 Photo by lugebeta on Unsplash |
The sun glared down mercilessly
at us as we soared through the air, pristine clouds swirling idly in
the sky--a significant contrast to what I was feeling. I shifted in my
seat with a sigh, trying to build a mental barrier around my mind to
keep out the invasive fog laden with disbelief and anger. I still
remembered my mother's exact words, spoken in a kind voice but cutting
into me bit by bit like a blunt butter knife. . . .
Travel For CharlieKathy Brown Sutton (c) Copyright 2025 by Kathy Brown Sutton |
 Photo by Loan on Unsplash |
I
grew up in a small town and migrated to a large city decades ago
after meeting my husband. He was from Pittsburgh and it was a well
known adage that residents of this city always return home. We met in
my home state of North Carolina and I followed my heart when he returned to his
northern clime. It took a few starts and stops before we were
finally married but I finally settled into place though my heart
yearned for the south and my family. . . .
Light Hearts, Heavy SkiesTony Godlewski (c) Copyright 2025 by Tony Godlewski |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
On
our first trip outside the U.S. as a couple, K. and I followed our
shadows eastward into purpling saffron clouds, to India.
Delhi
appears around us as the plane touches down, materializing all at
once from the metallic blue haze. The instant the cabin doors unseal,
the air perceptibly takes on ten pounds. Neither K. nor I mentions
this as we are already fighting. . . .
|
A Secret Adventure
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 Standiford Airport, Louisville, Ky. Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
remember those fall days, the days when as a ten year old boy I
would walk to the Standiford Field airport, which has now been
renamed, "The Muhammed Ali International Airport," after
our hometown hero. It was a time when there was no security check,
and I could walk to every gate, freely. It was also a time when there
were rows of pay phones, where I could always look forward to finding
change, left behind by travellers. . . .
The Heart Shaped LandAngela Fulghum (c) Copyright 2025 by Angela Fulghum |
 Photo by Sarajevo slike on Unsplash |
Sarajevo
is a city that lines a valley like the inside of a bowl, surrounded
by the Dinaric Alps. Our house was mid-way up the hills, with an
upper balcony overlooking much of the city and the mountains all
around. The architecture felt like a melding between Genoa and
Istanbul. It was gut-wrenchingly beautiful, and not just to the eyes.
In storms, thunder ricocheted between the peaks, rumbling deep to
your bones. Throughout the day you would hear the Muslim calls for
prayer, and Christian church bells, one of the only cities in the
world to hear three different religions' calls for prayer at
noon. It is a gem. . . .
Kimchi In KazakhstanClare Jeong (c) Copyright 2025 by Clare Jeong |
 Large apartment block in Almaty. Photo courtesy of the author. |
Traveling
is as much a chance to learn about oneself as it is to learn about a
new place. I never thought I would be taught this lesson in as
foreign a country as Kazakhstan. Before my college roommate had been
placed by her post-graduation fellowship program to teach English in
Kazakhstan's largest city of Almaty, I couldn't have told
you the difference between Kazakhstan and any of the other Stans. . . .
When Truth Sounds UnbelievableSwabrah Nabuuma (c) Copyright 2025 by Swabrah Nabuuma |
 Photo by Nithin Najeeb on Unsplash |
It
started one quiet Saturday morning, the kind of morning when sunlight
drifts lazily through half-drawn curtains and the smell of tea fills
the house. Maria was folding laundry when her eight-year-old son,
Ethan, burst into the room, his face pale and his words tumbling out
in a rush.
"Mom, Mr. Harris yelled at me in front of everyone and said I cheated on my test--but I didn't! I promise I didn't!". . .
"Mom, Mr. Harris yelled at me in front of everyone and said I cheated on my test--but I didn't! I promise I didn't!". . .
The Currency Of Presence: Lessons From The Swahili CoastCelestine Ndanu (c) Copyright 2025 by Celestine Ndanu |
 |
I've
always been
a mild-mannered individual who has long minded her business.
The
last ten years have
been a ride. I have worn all the seasons under my skin, specifically
on the thighs and cheeks. My life in Nairobi city had been a blur of
high-level business contracts, twenty-minute lunch breaks, highly
digitized professional anxiety, and evenings characterized by
domestic wifely duties. I signed up for all of this, but I just lost
myself somewhere between then and now. I have always imagined that if
it was going to be okay, I had to earn it. . . .
The Jerilderie LetterTroy Watson (c) Copyright 2025 by Troy Watson |
 Image by Achin bm from Pixabay |
Outside
our modest apartment in Manila, I observed a rather unusual scene:
five men armed with sticks standing in the street. As I watched them,
a cascade of thoughts flooded my mind, prompting me to reflect deeply
on how I had arrived at this particular moment in my life and what
sequence of events had led me here. It all seemed to originate from a
distant past, back in the small, quiet country town of Jerilderie,
nestled in the Australian outback near the Victorian border--a
place renowned for its rich history and infamous for its association
with the legendary bushranger Ned Kelly. . . .
The Grieving Girl Of Old StreetAlexis Glass (c) Copyright 2025 by Alexis Glass |
 Photo of Jiufen courtesy of the author. |
The
move to Taiwan was planned. Dad's unexpected death was not.
Amidst
grief, we went. It was (and still is) the angriest I have ever been.
Life stops for no one, and grief refuses to wait. This was how, one
month after Dad's death, we found ourselves in a cramped bus,
creeping up the winding road toward the old mining village of Jiufen.
. . .
BuddiesCamille Vettraino (c) Copyright 2025 by Camille Vettraino |
 Photo by Jack B on Unsplash |
I
am pretending to be asleep in the back seat of the car as we make our
way north on the trip back to Marquette following the holidays. My
boyfriend, Dennis, had to return to school early, so he has arranged
this ride for me with two of his buddies.
We've been on the road for hours. It's night; the only light comes from the headlights of oncoming cars as we pass endless mile-markers in the rural Michigan landscape. . . .
We've been on the road for hours. It's night; the only light comes from the headlights of oncoming cars as we pass endless mile-markers in the rural Michigan landscape. . . .
The Traveler From The End Of The WorldLouise Guersan (c) Copyright 2025 by Louise Guersan |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
This story is unfortunately not fiction; I
lived in Dakar (Senegal) from 2017 to 2019 and I knew the young man I
am talking about. I sadly don't know what became of him, as I never
heard from him again. Did he reach the end of his journey? I will
never know, and I can only hope that he achieved his plans and found
peace of mind... and happiness. . . .
The VisitBradford Bennett (c) Copyright 2024 by Bradford Bennett |
 Photo by Salah Ait Mokhtar on Unsplash |
I
stand alone, gazing at the breathtaking vista that unfolds before me.
The beauty of the landscape--the swaying alfalfa--the
golden glow of the afternoon sun, fills me with a sense of
tranquility. It's a scene that beckons me home, just as it did so
many times long ago.
Here, at this old farm site, is where my childhood was shaped. This view, from the back porch of the farmhouse, was my world then. The old, two-story house and barn to the side, now just marks in the sod where they once stood. But the memories they hold are still there, now vivid in my mind. . . .
Dust, Silence, And The AravallisChinmay Khare (c) Copyright 2025 by Chinmay Khare |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Heat
had some weight to it that summer around Udaipur, the sort that kept
close to the ground and weighed upon your skin, so you could remember
your own breath. It was May 2025, and I had gone neither as the
tourist in quest of the glimmer of palaces nor the lapping of the
City Palace on Lake Pichola, but on a training programme in
fieldwork, hands-on exposure to the rural development issues that
encircled Udaipur's quieter peripheries. . . .
The Mortar AttackFredrick Hudgin (c) Copyright 2025 by Fredrick Hudgin |
 Photo by Petra Brydlova on Unsplash |
Who
would have believed that the Woodstock movie would be showing at our
compound's primitive movie theater in Qui Nhơn, Vietnam,
in 1970? But there it was: Richie Havens, Joan Baez, The Who--all
the bands I loved and never had the money or opportunity to see in
person. . . .
The Half-Year In IndiaJuveria Afreen Azeez (c) Copyright 2025 by Juveria Afreen Azeez |
 Image by M Ameen from Pixabay
|
She
had always thought of New York as the center of her universe--the skyscrapers, the subways, the constant hum that never really
slept. For twenty years, that rhythm had been her heartbeat. But when
her parents decided to spend six months in India with her
grandparents, she felt an odd mixture of excitement and hesitation.
The word India sounded vast and colorful, but also unfamiliar--like a place that might swallow her in its chaos before she could
understand its order. . . .
Travels With 'Donny'Pamella Laird (c) Copyright 2025 by Pamella Laird |
 Image by clea129 from Pixabay
|
Whatever
was she thinking? Ride to school from our farm--two miles,
across a river--on old Donny! A horse we'd never ridden
before! Apart from that, none of us had ever ridden any horse before!
Over 85 years ago, children didn't question their parents--never even thought to quibble about arrangements. You'll remember those days? We did what we were told. . . .
Department Of Defence Teachers Fly From Turkey To Afghanistan For Easter HolidayAnne Daughtry (c) Copyright 2025 by Anne Daughtry |
 Photo courtesy of the author. (See below for information about the photo.) |
A
group of American teachers working for the US Government on Incirlik
Air Force Base in Adana Turkey, decided to go visit Afghanistan for
the holiday. There were about 10 of us, and we headed out
with cameras and sturdy shoes. At that time, Afghanistan was
very welcoming, peaceful and beautiful. . . .
Angel In Panama CityAnn Miranda (c) Copyright 2025 by Ann Miranda |
 Image by Tumisu from Pixabay |
Everything
had gone well, I thought as I sat in Group D, waiting to board for
Panama City. My mother checked her phone and my sister foraged
through her backpack for a snack.
I
was studying the overhead projector, noting that our departure time
was delayed again. First thirty minutes, then sixty. . . .
Dr. Aldyth Buckland Scores The Prestigious World Organisation of Family Doctors (WONCA) 5 Star Award For North America RegionWinston Donald © Copyright 2025 by Winston Donald |
 Photo courrtesy of the author. |
Aldyth
Buckland, one of Jamaica's finest family physicians, was
recently awarded the World Organisation of Family Doctors (WONCA) 5
Star Doctor Award as the Family Physician for the North America
Region (2024). This distinguished family doctor has put Jamaica
again in the spotlight of high achieving small island states. From
reggae music, to Miss World, Miss Universe, to delicious dishes, to
being the sprint capital of the world, Jamaica never ceases to
surprise. . . .
More...
Mallorca, Or The Body's Fever DreamBrookelynn Flores (c) Copyright 2025 by Brookelynn Flores |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
sun has already set by the time the plane lands on the island, yet
the air itself feels awake. Crisp, salt-heavy, the kind that grips
you like a childhood game you forgot you loved. I step out and the
smell of something ancient hits me, a sweetness that doesn't
belong to anyone but insists on being noticed. . . .
Somewhere, Something Wonderful. . .
|
|
The
night before Masie Greene's final exam in her Business
Writing 401 class, she baked two dozen chocolate-chip cookies
for Paul, her neighbor across the hall. They shared several
classes together at Northwestern
University, as both were pre-law majors. She took
him the cookies, and he invited her in so they
could study for their final. . . .
The Fox Beneath The Fig TreeDiyora Kabilova (c) Copyright 2025 by Diyora Kabilova |
 |
The
first winter after we moved was quieter than any I could remember.
Even the air seemed reluctant to touch the ground. Snow lay across
the backyard like unwritten paper, soft and waiting, and behind the
house, the fig tree stood skeletal--its limbs reaching upward as
though pleading for a sky that had forgotten it. I used to watch the
branches from my window, tracing their black silhouettes against the
pale morning, each curve like the thought of something still alive
beneath the frost. . . .
| First
Night In Lebanon Oleg Daugovish (c) Copyright 2025 by Oleg Daugovish |
 Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash |
As a seventies kid, I ate oatmeal with my dad before school every morning, as the radio delivered the same international news. More bombing in Lebanon; another artillery fire; warplanes gunned down.
"Will it stop one day?" I asked Dad. He shook his head.
|
The Other Lucifer Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 The Fall of the Rebel Angels, c.1720, by Sabastiano Ricci at Wikimedia Commons. |
"The
Other Bible" is a collection of books about Christianity, every
book written more than a thousand years ago, just as was every book
in the King James edition of the Christian Bible.
"The Other Bible" was first published in the United States of America in 1984. The King James Christian Bible was first published in England in the year 1611.
In both collections there are some books that were written long before the time of Jesus. In those times there could not have been much communication among authors, if only because, scholars have averred, less than 1% of persons in a nation could read. This statistic helps explain why there are so many differences in stories of the same person in the different books. . . .
"The Other Bible" was first published in the United States of America in 1984. The King James Christian Bible was first published in England in the year 1611.
In both collections there are some books that were written long before the time of Jesus. In those times there could not have been much communication among authors, if only because, scholars have averred, less than 1% of persons in a nation could read. This statistic helps explain why there are so many differences in stories of the same person in the different books. . . .
| The
Night Of The Fireflies And The/Thunderstorm Elizabeth V. Koshy © Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth V. Koshy |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
At
twilight, we walk in trepidation, down the steep slope of loose rocks
and gravel, hewn out from the hillside to create a campsite housing a
hundred multi-coloured tents, towards the lake. We are at
Bhandardara, a village situated on the banks of the Pravara River.
The Arthur lake can be seen in the distance. Its waters lap quietly
around the foothills of a few of the highest peaks of the Sahayadri
mountains situated 2400 ft. above sea level. . . .
We Had Everything That MatteredJames Osborne (c) Copyright 2025 by James Osborne |
 Photo by Steve: https://www.pexels.com/photo/gray-deer-eating-grass-397850/Photo courtesy of the author.Photo by Steve: https://www.pexels.com/photo/gray-deer-eating-grass-397850/ |
The road to our farm wasn't a road at all,
at
first. It was a trail with two parallel ruts that zig-zagged around
groves of aspen trees. The deep grooves quite possibly were initially
worn into the earth by the wheels of horse-drawn wagons.
The home on our farm was of similar vintage. The wood-fired kitchen stove provided the main source of heat for the two-story clapboard structure insulated with woodchips. A rusty handpump in the back yard supplied drinking water. Other utilities that we take for granted today were non-existent. . . .
More...
Confessions From A Sailboat SnafuAnn Miranda (c) Copyright 2025 by Ann Miranda |
 Photo by Marshall Patterson on Unsplash |
I
was about nine when I discovered the problem, the day that the eye
doctor told me to close my left eye.
|
A City, Its Birth, Life And Death
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
City of Highland Park, on the outskirts of Louisville, Kentucky, was
established in 1890. In the beginning, the little City was centered
around "Louisville Avenue," which led directly into
downtown Louisville. The two cities sat right next door to each
other, big sister and little sister co-existing in harmony. The
Louisville & Nashville railroad was established soon after
Highland Park was founded, and no doubt was a main reason for
establishing the small city. The
railroad tracks ran parallel to Louisville Avenue, and the little
city on the outskirts of Louisville seemed to be the perfect place
for the railroad yard and engine repair shop. It presented a job
opportunity for hundreds of Louisvillians and those living near the
railroad, and its tracks south; my father worked in the engine parts
department for over 40 years, keeping major parts on hand to repair
engines and passenger and freight cars. . . .
| Memories
Of An Oil Country Priye Gift Johnson (c) Copyright 2025 by Priye Gift Johnson |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Cousin
Dudu had opened the door for me and my brother to travel for the
first time since our parents' separation. It was the middle of the
year 2010. The same year that I lost a dear friend in a boat accident
in Lagos Island. Cousin Dudu was inviting us both to a family reunion
at our hometown in Kunukunuama in Delta State which according to him
had changed since the reign of Chief Government Oweizide Ekpemupolo
a.k.a Tompolo, the veteran militant, whose protest wars had earned
our people a spot in the nation's polity. His argument was that
a 'mini London' was gradually being erected in Gbaramatu
(all thanks to the militancy movement led by the same man) after the
bombing of the sister communities by the Military Joint Task Force
(JTF) in 2009 which would usher in a lot of radical development in
the coming years. . . .
Fifty Cents Down And Fifty Cents A WeekAntonio D'Andrea (c) Copyright 2025 by Antonio D'Andrea |
 Vintage Benrus Men's Manual-Wind Goldtone Watch. Photo by Joe Haupt at Wikimedia Commons. |
On
April
12, 1942, my oldest brother Larry, who was nineteen years old at the
time, enlisted in the Army.
My parents decided that Larry should have a gold watch for a going away present. As this was a very special purchase, the neighborhood jewelry stores were not "good enough," my mother's words, for such an important gift. The following Saturday, my mother led my father and dragged me by the hand, into the ferocious mouth of the subway, for our thirty minute trip "Downtown.". . .
The ShatteringPatrice Donnelly (c) Copyright 2025 by Patrice Donnelly |
 Photo by NASA Hubble Space Telescope at Unsplash |
. . . .Back
in 1987 something unbelievable happened to me that changed the course
of my life. The impact it made and the many incredible experiences
since, which I documented on the pages of my journals, has lead me on
one crazy ride through life. For nearly twenty years I have attempted
to write these experiences into a book which hasn't been
accomplished… yet. The desire to complete this challenge is
before me. . . .
France 1958, The Year I Turned PsychosexualAlvin Wang (c) Copyright 2025 by Alvin Wang |
 Photo by N509FZ at Wikimedia Commons. |
My
earliest memory of traveling abroad occurred when I was four years old.
During the summer of 1958, my family took a trip to Europe which
included a few days in Paris, the City of Lights. Being a young child,
I was naive with respect to the nuances and textures of French culture
so I could be forgiven for thinking that 'French' fries originated in
France (they actually began in nearby Belgium). Or that 'French; toast
was not a French invention, but can be traced back to a 2,000 year old
Roman cookbook. It would be many years
before I learned about the French revolution, haute cuisine, and the
horrific history of the guillotine -- all of which contributed in their
own ways to the arc of Western history. . . .
The Train To Kano: A Journey Written In Dust And DelayAondoana Abraham (c) Copyright 2025 by Aondoana Abraham |
 Photo by Petar Milošević at Wikimedia Commons. |
The
Lagos--Kano train does not care about time. Schedules exist more
as suggestions, fragile notes in the margins of Nigeria’s
chaos, than binding promises. The morning I boarded, I learned this
the hard way. I had arrived at the Lagos station at 6:00 a.m.,
clutching a ticket whose departure was marked for seven. By nine, the
train had not moved. By ten, passengers were still trickling in,
sweating, bargaining with porters, dragging sacks of rice, yam, and
secondhand clothes. At eleven, with a long groan like an ancient
beast waking, the train lurched forward into the dust, carrying us
north. . . .
My Journey From LagosElohim Victor Paul (c) Copyright 2025 by Elohim Victor Paul |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
We
were supposed to leave by 7:30 PM. That was the plan. But by 11 PM,
we were still at the park--tired, hungry, and watching the night
swallow the last traces of patience. Every other bus had left. Ours
stood there like a forgotten promise. . . .
| At
Twenty, My Heart Was Older Ibrahim Abdulhakeem (c) Copyright 2025 Ibrahim Abdulhakeem |
 Photo by CDC on Unsplash |
I
was fourteen the first time a doctor told me my blood pressure was
abnormal. I did not understand what he meant. At that age, all I knew
of sickness was the flu, the occasional malaria, or the stomach aches
my mother treated with ginger tea. Hypertension was a word I had
heard only in relation to old people--grey-haired uncles who had
retired from work, or grandmothers whose backs were bent by time. I
remember laughing nervously and asking if the machine had made a
mistake. . . .
Vows By The SeaSteven Corbin (c) Copyright 2025 by Steven Corbin |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Between
the sea and the city line, our taxi held the four of us--Vy in
front, my parents in back--from Da Nang toward Hoi An. The
dashboard shrine glowed red and gold, a bobbing lucky cat keeping
time with the potholes. Outside, resorts and palms slipped by; the
Marble Mountains rose like quiet sentinels as we headed south. . . .
My GrandmotherMmesoma Eze (c) Copyright 2025 by Mmesoma Eze |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
stopped several steps away; she was talking to herself again. Sitting
on the bench that already cried for mercy, she carefully removed the
shells of her egusi (a local seed in Nigeria), lost to the world. She
was unaware of my presence, and I took this opportunity to watch her,
analyze her movements, and think about her thoughts. . . .
More...
|
Kathryn Payne-Olson (c) Copyright 2025 by Kathryn Payne-Olson |
|
Six
years ago, we were told our thirteen year old son needed a bone
marrow transplant. He was diagnosed with leukemia at twelve years old
and we had tried every chemo, radiation and even a million dollar
car-T cell therapy that had over a 90% success rate. Nothing worked.
A bone marrow transplant was the absolute last result and came with
very dangerous complications. We weren’t the least bit afraid
of the procedure because we were already down right terrified; he was
dying. . . .
|
Mishap Giles Ryan (c) Copyright 2025 by Giles Ryan |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
When we have an adventure and wish to describe it
to our
family and friends, is it fair play to leave anything out? Must we
include only the good things, or are we allowed to leave out
something unfortunate? May we ignore a mishap? Perhaps not. As a
student of history, I like to think the record must be complete. . . .
The Kite Tradition In ChinaDeon Matzen (c) Copyright 2025 by Deon Matzen |
 Weifang Dragon's Head Headed home. Photo by the author. |
In
Mid April, we took a trip to Weifang, Shandong Province. The purpose
of this trip was to present gifts to the International Kite Museum
there from The International Kite Museum in Long Beach Washington,
the only kite museum in the US. We took an overnight train there
leaving Beijing at 9:30 in the evening. We would arrive the next
morning at 7:30.
Unfortunately,
the gifts were not delivered in time for the International Kite
Festival in April. It was probably as well that we didn't work
on that part of the project during the festival as there were too
many activities and too many foreign countries present to focus on
our project. . . .
The Road To The SeaMartin Willis (c) Copyright 2025 by Martin Willis |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
slept very little the night before I left Nairobi for Diani. My bag
was packed with the door still shut, yet my head was unpacked,
fidgeting, and extending its legs out between the kilometers that lay
before it. I continued to visualize the long road to the coast and
pictured the ocean before I heard it. Whenever I shut my eyes, I
caught glimpses of things I had not as yet passed on the way, the
plain of the Tsavo, the Likoni ferry, the palms that were swinging
along the shore. The excitement was such a wave that it was not to be
subdued. . . .
| Rosebud Debra Jo Myers (c) Copyright 2025 by Debra Jo Myers |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My
hands gripped the steering wheel as my car maneuvered the sharp turns
of the mountain road. I couldn't wait to get there. This trip
into the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky wasn't about the
beautiful scenery or unique wildlife. Gigi told me to watch for the
thick green trees underneath the big sky painting a breathtaking
picture. But my mind was focused on my mission, and my eyes focused
on the road winding ahead, so I hardly noticed. I had been waiting
for a chance to see what was left of the home Gigi grew up in. The
farmland Gigi talked about where her family grew radishes and picked
them to take to the Farmer’s Market. I envisioned her with her
siblings' carrying buckets into the fields. I felt like
venturing here could help me to help Gigi. . . .
Jogging UrayasuZary Fekete (c) Copyright 2024 by Zary Fekete |
 Photo by Kate Trifo at Pexels |
The
jogging path in Urayasu is one of the politest places in the city. It
runs like a handshake between the apartment blocks and the sea wall,
a ribbon of asphalt that seems always to be apologizing for existing.
The path makes room for everyone…mothers pushing strollers,
boys on scooters, couples in lockstep with their matching track
suits. When you jog it, you feel yourself being absorbed into an
orderly river of motion, neither hurried nor slow, always adjusting.
Even the cyclists ding their bells softly, like excuses. . . .
A View From The HurricaneMark Maller (c) Copyright 2025 by Mark Maller |
 Photo by Wendelin Jacober at Pexels. |
For
years I planned to move or stay on the Gulf coast of Tampa, Florida
and rent a condo near the ocean beach. I spent most of my life
longing for, and planning to live near the Rocky Mountains, but now
my energy for climbing hills was gone. So I learned to love the
water and relax. I could not imagine that this would lead me to
disaster. . . .
Plus OneThomas Turman (c) Copyright 2025 by Thomas Turman |
 Photo by Vishnu R Nair at Pexels. |
Blanton
Tallow Baltz, the mother of the bride, has worked over the guest list
for months and knows she has her daughter's wedding rehearsal
lunch planned down to the last detail. Seating arrangements are
United Nations balanced. Her relatives include characters and kooks
like all extended families but she hopes the drinking will keep the
political and religious feuds to a minimum. Her husband Bradford's
crowd can always disturb things, but maybe they've grown up by
now. She can always hope. . . .
Eureka Springs RevisitedSharon Zajdman (c) Copyright 2025 by Sharon Zajdman |
 Crescent Hotel, Eureka Springs, Arkansas - Postcard, circa 1890s courtesy of Wikimedia Commons |
In
early November, I
spent two serendipitous days in the tiny resort town of Eureka
Springs, located in the Ozarks, at the edge of Arkansas. I had
accepted an invitation from a friend in the American Midwest to join
her on her ranch in Kansas, and she was taking me on a road trip. Since
we would be riding through Missouri, I asked if I might see
something connected with Mark Twain. "Hannibal is on the other
side of the state." I was mildly disappointed. However, as a
Canadian and an easterner I found everything exotic, so I decided to
sit back and surrender to whatever wanted to present itself to me. . . .
National SecuritySharon Zajdman (c) Copyright 2025 by Sharon Zajdman |
 Photo by Hermes Rivera on Unsplash |
It
was late September. A friend and I set out on a cross-border outing.
The day was intended as an excursion into what the Americans call "leaf peeping," a pleasurable jaunt into the mountains,
riding through the riotous colours of autumn foliage at its peak. . . .
The Red Dressing GownPamella Laird (c) Copyright 2025 by Pamella Laird |
 Photo courtesy of the
author.
|
"I
knew it was her, her calls always come late at
night. Have
another G and T, Michelle." From her patio chair, Tracey
stretches a lazy arm and pours a gin and tonic for her sister.
"What's it about this time?". . .
More
Venice WatchesCybil Koudsi (c) Copyright 2025 by Cybil Koudsi |
 Photo by Sonali Bhatnagar at Wikimedia Commons. |
I
arrived in Venice on a bright summer morning, the kind where the sun
bounces off the canals and makes the water glitter like glass. I
stepped off the train at Santa Lucia station and was hit immediately
by that unmistakable mix of scents: salt from the lagoon, diesel from
the vaporetti, and bread baking somewhere close but hidden. The city
was alive, and I could feel it watching me even as I pulled my
suitcase along the stone platform. Venice doesn't greet you
politely, she observes. . . .
|
A
Road Not Taken
Robert Flournoy (c) Copyright 2025 by Robert Flournoy |
 Photo by Jules Verne
Times Two at Wikimedia Commons.
|
I went to high school in Virginia. My dad, a career
army officer, was stationed at Ft Monroe where he and my mom bought a
house they really could not afford. It was on a canal just down the
beach that connected to the Chesapeake Bay.
Our little neighborhood had a sea wall of stone where docks for boats of various sizes could be seen behind every home. Ours was a 15' outboard (40 HP Johnson) that served us well to fish and water ski.
Summers were magical. With a thousand acres of marsh across the canal in which we crabbed and hunted ducks, a white sand beach 100 yards down the road, and the canal a pathway to open water a short boat ride away, we didn't appreciate the paradise that we lived in, Bronson, Steve, and I. . . .
Our little neighborhood had a sea wall of stone where docks for boats of various sizes could be seen behind every home. Ours was a 15' outboard (40 HP Johnson) that served us well to fish and water ski.
Summers were magical. With a thousand acres of marsh across the canal in which we crabbed and hunted ducks, a white sand beach 100 yards down the road, and the canal a pathway to open water a short boat ride away, we didn't appreciate the paradise that we lived in, Bronson, Steve, and I. . . .
The VoralbergAndrew Szemeredy (c) Copyright 2025 by Andrew Szemeredy |
 Photo by Johannes Rampp aat Pexels. |
My
uncle left Hungary at the conclusion of the 1956 revolution there.
Our family stayed back. My mother suffered a grave illness, and Uncle
Peter dared to come to Hungary again, ten years after his escape, to
meet her perhaps for the last time in their lives. Uncle Peter risked
a lot by stepping on Hungarian soil, because his escape was
considered illegal at the time, while at the same time he had already
passed the exams and worked as a successful and talented paediatric
cardiologist in Toronto, Canada. . . .
ZeusAntonio D'Andrea (c) Copyright 2025 by Antonio D'Andrea |
 Photo courtesy of Anne Helgren at Wikimedia Commons. |
Black
cats are considered to be an omen of bad luck. Don't let one
cross your path and
avoid them whenever possible. Salem witches used them as familiars.
They were witches
best friends. Familiars are low ranking demons that can assume an
animal shape, especially black cats. That's what you believe if
you are superstitious.
Fortunately, for Zeus, we are not superstitious. Who is Zeus you ask? That's who our story is all about. . . .
Fortunately, for Zeus, we are not superstitious. Who is Zeus you ask? That's who our story is all about. . . .
A Bend In TimeMarzieh Mostafavi Mendi (c) Copyright 2025 by Marzieh Mostafavi Mendi |
 Photo (c) 2025 by the author |
She
would often visit us during our short stays in the arid village of
our ancestors. With no gadgets of communication, the birds must have
let her know we were coming. She looked like the old poor lady in the
Disney cartoon Snow
White and the Seven
Dwarfs, yet her
kindness could have
enchanted even Snow White. As for Snow White's naivety, that
had no place here; this woman carried humble wisdom in every step she
took. . . .
More...
The Constants Of MawsynramTathya Kinra (c) Copyright 2025 by Tathya Kinra |
 Photo by Johannes Plenio at Pexels. |
Living
in
Mawsynram was tough, even if you loved rain, thought Aradhya, picking
up her scarf which had fallen into the muddy water as she ran toward
her office. Nothing was ever dry here, neither the streets, nor the
lives of the people, and definitely not the board with the writing "The Wettest Place on Earth" where travellers crowded to
click pictures. . . .
My Family And Their Quirky WaysEvie Gratton (c) Copyright 2025 by Evie Gratton |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My
Grandad:
My grandad has
dementia. Sometimes he forgets things like what day it is or even
that he put his hat on his head. It can be confusing for him, but I
try to be patient and help him remember. Even though his memory isn't
the same as before, he still loves to tell stories with me, and I
love him just the same. . . .
Are We Lost Yet?Gideon Klein (c) Copyright 2025 by Gideon Klein |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |  Photo from Canva Pro courtesy of the author. |
When
I was 7 years old, my family had a house in Stockbridge,
Massachusetts. My mom loved to drive, and I was an enthusiastic
passenger. We'd take drives just to explore. My favorite was when we
tried to get lost.
There
was no GPS back then, no Google Maps. Just those big, unruly paper
things. But we never used them on these drives. The goal was to
venture beyond the familiar and see where we ended up. And once my
mom acknowledged we were lost, the challenge became finding our way
back.
My BoyfriendHarshita Kushwaha (c) Copyright 2025 by Harshita Kushwaha |
 Photo by Samuel Rodriguez on Unsplash |
It's
1.27 AM in Seattle.
It's raining. The town is quiet. Streets empty, the silence being
broken only by the hum of soft falling showers and thunderstorms. A
nineteen year old boy stands partially drenched in an empty garage of
a shared home after thirteen hours of shift. Exhaustion engulfs him,
and yet, instead of collapsing into the bed, he waits, with phone in
hand, to hear a familiar voice on the other end from someone 7500
miles away. . . .
A Memoir Of The Youngest AroundJohn R. Mero (c) Copyright 2025 by John R, Mero |
 Photo by Altas Green at Wikimedia Commons. |
A
few days after turning seventeen, I left Quesnel, a timber town in
British Columbia, and hitchhiked whenever I could alone around the
world in 1972.
I
returned after fifteen months and twenty-five countries later. I had
faced life-threatening situations, witnessed human misery, met people
who broadened my spirit and mind, experienced beauty beyond words,
and encountered timeless ideas that would shape my life. . . .
More...
The Dream She Wants To HearMaureen Moynihan (c) Copyright 2023 by Maureen Moynihan
|
 Photo courtesy of awmleer on Unsplash |
Before her 26th birthday, my mother had four children.
"Your father would sneeze and I’d get pregnant," she'd say, part caution, mostly sarcasm, sugarcoating the whirlwind of exhaustion that had become her life.
I,
on the other hand, had my twenties for eighteen years. The world was
my playground and my mother cheered me on with every plane I boarded.
When I returned home, we'd share a bottle of wine, pouring over
pictures of the Sistine Chapel or new friends who spoke a different
language. Our laughter would spill over until the stars winked good
night. . . .
I Used To Drive In The Fast LaneAntonio D'Andrea (c) Copyright 2025 by Anthonio D'Andrea |
 Photo courtesy of Reinhold Möller at Wikimedia Commons. |
The
fellow that entered the freeway behind me became impatient with my 60
miles per
hour speed and angrily zoomed around me and crossed three lanes into
the fast lane.
|
Lion And Ostrich Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Andrey Tikhonovskiy on Unsplash |
 Photo by Pawan Sharma on Unsplash |
Ostrich
was walking along, minding her own business. She heard someone
calling out, "Help me, somebody! Help me, please!"
Ostrich
looked around; she didn't see anyone. She thought she must have been
mistaken about hearing the voice. She kept walking along, minding her
own business. . . .