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| 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. . . .
|
An Adventure
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
An Adventure
I remember those fall days, the days when as a ten
year old boy
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. . . .
The Inner Runner Led Me To KenyaKenneth M. Cahall (c) Copyright 2025 by Kenneth M. Cahall |
 Photo by Federico Faccipieri on Unsplash |
The
tires hit the tarmac at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, and I
pump both fists in the air. Tears stream down my face as the plane
shudders to a stop. The passengers around me smile at this strange
foreign man overwhelmed with joy to be in Kenya. They couldn't know
that this moment was years in the making--my being here now, to
literally chase a dream. And a book brought me here. "Ken-ya," I
whisper to myself, feeling the synchronicity. My name is Ken, and I
am meant to be in Kenya. . . .
Never Too Old To Find LoveTina Blackstone Lund (c) Copyright 2025 by Tina Blackstone Lund |
 Photo by Nina Hill on Unsplash |
On
one of my many
flights I worked on during my time as an Air Stewardess I came across
an amazing couple who truly were an inspiration to any of us looking
for love at any age and proof that there is love out there for
everyone irrelevant of age. This couple who I am going to call John
and Mary were travelling from Germany to the UK and then had a
connection to the USA. . . .
Four Voices, One Song
|
 Chart to show number of new articles created by the GibraltarpediA project by January 1st 2013. Photo by John Cummings at Wikimedia Commons |
Dinner
at my house
was never quiet. My mum would slip into Punjabi mid conversation, my
dad would answer in English as if it were the only natural response,
and I would sit between them, silently translating the conversation
in my head while planning the Malay homework I had to finish for
school the next day. At seven years old, I did not think of myself as
multilingual. I thought of myself as someone constantly switching
masks, never sure which one was the real face. The puzzle was not
learning the languages themselves. It was knowing when to wear which
mask. . . .
More...
Echos Of BeijingFrank Fu (c) Copyright 2025 by Frank Fu |
 Chinese middle school students and teacher. Photo by William Ng at Wikimedia Commons. |
Moments
of joy, sorrow, or quiet routine, I still find myself immersed in the
memories of my middle school in China. At the time, each day felt
repetitive, almost indistinguishable from the next. However, looking
back now after two years in Canada, I realize those days have become
the threads that wove together the fabric of who I am. . . .
The Queen Of Crescent BeachAlbert W. Caron, Jr. (c) Copyright 2025 by Albert W. Caron, Jr. |
 Photo by 21849078 on Pixabay. |
If
you look closely on the corner of Waterman and Angelica Streets in
Mattapoisett, MA, you might see a castle. It's not made out of
stone and mortar like palaces of old, nor does it have ramparts,
turrets, a drawbridge or even a moat. Everyone's home is
their castle, and my mom was no different. It looks more like a
summer cottage, which it is, but my mom lived in that castle for
nearly 50 years raising her family. It was merely a few years
earlier when she earned her simple white crown. . . .
The Man Who Walks Beside MeKylee Perry © Copyright 2025 by Kylee Perry |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
There
are some stories you wish you never had to tell. This is mine. It's
about my brother, Keegan -- the one who made me laugh, who
looked after me, who should still be here. His life was full of love,
and his absence is a silence I will never get used to. I tell his
story because he deserves to be remembered, even in the spaces where
it hurts. . . .
The Boy Who Chose SolitudeShokhruh Kayumov (c) Copyright 2025 by Shokhruh Kayumov |
 Painting (c) 2025 by my sister, Jasmina Kayumova. |
. . . .Far
away from the noise of cities and the warmth of companionship, there
lives a boy--now a man--on an island no one has marked on a
map. To the world, he is missing, perhaps even dead. To himself, he
is neither criminal nor hero. He is simply a man who once longed for
connection, failed to hold onto it, and found himself destined to
live in silence. . . .
The Dance Of A Lonely LegGabriel S. Giorgio (c) Copyright 2025 by Gabriel S. Giorgio |
 Photo by Jisca Lucia on Unsplash |
Children
whining in different languages always sounds more forgivable. When
it's in English, I get annoyed. "Stupid kid, he’s
going to grow up to be a jerk" and all that. When it's
Spanish or Thai or Khmer, it's easier to feel the temporality
of it. By not hearing what they are saying, I can see what they are
trying to do. . . .
From Rubber Tapping To Tapping Community StrengthsAnu Jain (c) Copyright 2025 by Anu Jain |
 Sunitha during her early morning Rubber Tapping work. Photo Courtesy: Deshabhimani Malayalam Daily. |
In
the lush, green expanse of a rubber plantation, a story not of latex
and labor, but of resilience and profound change began with the quiet
rhythm of a tapping knife in the pre-dawn darkness. The rhythm
belonged to a fifteen-year-old girl named Sunitha. In a world that
expected her to follow a predetermined path of hardship, she chose to
forge her own. This is the tale of how she, guided by empathy and the
memory of her family's struggle, grew from a silent observer of
inequality into a powerful architect of transformation, weaving a new
future for her community, one courageous step at a time. . . .
Mama's RingMary Jane Hill (c) Copyright 2025 by Mary Jane Hill |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
The
small community of Mayville touched me with its quaintness when I
was assigned to work there in a banking office during the early
1980s. Covering a land area of slightly more than one square mile,
the past and the present blended together with ease in a town that
had mastered a slow paced atmosphere despite the hectic scramble of
neighboring communities. . . .
Heroes Don't Always Wear A CapeEdeki Patricia (c) Copyright 2025 by Edeki Patricia |
 Photo by RDNE Stock project at Pexels. |
Hero is dressed in a pretty little girl who... Well here goes this...
Let me tell you a little story of an unsung hero.
A smart little girl, who accomplished a feat that was downplayed
Yes, smart! Skipped a couple of grades in primary school and levelled up
| The
Green Mamba Bheka Pierce (c) Copyright 2025 by Bheka Pierce |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Darkness
was gathering along the roadsides as our Peace Corps Director drove
Alex and me, our trunks roped to the rack atop the Land Rover, to
our destination. We'd been delayed. And delayed again. We were
learning the truth of the country's unofficial motto: No hurry
in Swaziland. Now we were briefly delayed once more while a
thousand-pound ox decided whether or not it wished to accommodate us
by shifting from the middle of the road. . . .
My DadAnn Traynor (c) Copyright 2025 by Ann Traynor |
 |
My father Thomas Joseph Traynor (1918 - 1995)
emigrated to
England from County Cavan in Ireland between the two World Wars. Here
I describe his mischievous ways and why he was such a great dad.
My
dad Tommy Traynor was a man full of fun and popular with everyone who
knew him. During my childhood in Kilburn in London he seemed to know
everyone in the large Irish population. It was impossible to walk
along Kilburn High Road with him without being stopped for a chat by
almost everyone and there were always plenty of invitations to come
in for a drink in one of the many Irish pubs along the route. Years
later his grandchildren had the same experience. . . .
Three Women Who Walk Beside MeMartha Ellen Johnson (c) Copyright 2025 by Martha Ellen Johnson |
 Photo of Auntie courtesy of the auhor. |
. . . .Auntie
was the Mother Superior of the orphanage in Ghent. Four nights before
the terrified Jewish girl stood outside the convent doors delivered
by the Belgian underground during the Occupation when the Gestapo was
rounding up the Belgian Jews for extermination. . . .
The FlyAntonio D'Andrea (c) Copyright 2025 by Anthonio D'Andrea |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
There
is nothing like a warm summer evening in New York City.
Standing on the corner of 49th street and Broadway, the warm, slightly moist breeze and the mixture of odors, is unique to this town. Wow! Here I am in the heart of Tin Pan Alley, the music making capital of the world, waiting for my friend and partner, Frank Garcia, to join me.
The year is 1958, I'm 20 years old and as excited as a teenage boy about to have his first kiss. . . .
My Crowned JewelsPenny Wootten (c) Copyright 2025 by Penny Wootten |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My
grandchildren call me Mimi.
I
like being a Mimi and all the responsibility that comes with that
title. I get to read stories, rock babies, play. I get to make up
songs and sing little ones to sleep. I get to look into their eyes
with kindness. I get to smile and laugh at their silly antics. I get
to snuggle them and tell them how much I love them. At this very
moment, I have one granddaughter, four grandsons and another grandson
on the way. The boys are taking over. . . .
HereditaryJihoon Suh (c) Copyright 2025 byJihoon Suh |
 Map image from Wikimedia Commons. |
See this poverty-stricken peninsula.
A Biography To LastIzzy Christina (c) Copyright 2025 by Izzy Christina |
 Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash |
A
warm summer day, playing in the backyard, swinging on the swing set,
being pushed by a figure whose smell you've learned to know
through your years of growing up; it's your mother. The one
figure who singlehandedly gave birth to you, cared for you, and
overall was able to watch you grow into a magnificent human being. . . .
SansaraDandar Rampilov (c) Copyright 2025 by Dandar Rampilov Winner 2025 Biographical Nonfiction Contest |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
When
I came to Mongolia to start a new life, I did not come empty-handed.
I carried with me the inheritance of my grandfather's
footsteps, though I had sold the only material thing he left me, an
apartment in Ulan-Ude, the capital of Buryatia. What I carried was
heavier than stone and wood. It was memory, persistence, and the
strange circle of history. . . .
More...
The Easter WalkKatherine Guo (c) Copyright 2025 by Katherine Guo |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Day after day, as I hurried
into and out of my dorm building, I came to notice that the cherry
blossoms were holding out for longer than expected. Last year, they had
bloomed and then fallen in what felt like the blink of an eye, but this
time, the pink petals held on stubbornly, even though green shoots were
already jostling them for space. It looked like spring was here to stay
for Boston. So, on the long weekend granted by Easter, I managed to
slow myself down and have a cheerful thought. I called up my friend
Lucas and asked if he'd like to take a walk to the Boston Public
Garden. We're both busy students, and this spring semester had
particularly swamped us, so simply wandering the streets was always a
special opportunity. He agreed excitedly. . . .
Orjaikor And The Silent ThiefChinanu Orji (c) Copyright 2025 by Chinanu Orji |
 Photo by Beendy234 at Wikimedia Commons. |
This
is the true story of a man I met during my internship in a Nigerian
clinic. In his struggle with glaucoma, which left him partially
blind, I learned that disease steals more than sight, it steals
stories, dignity, and sometimes hope. This is his story, and what it
left in me. . . .
No RegretsRachel B. Anson (c) Copyright 2025 by Rachel B. Anson |
 Official U.S. Navy photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Have
you ever wanted something so bad. . .know that everyone might
think you have absolutely lost your mind? Sadly (or not. . .HA!)
that is NOT a foreign experience for me. I have never really
considered myself to be gutsy or bold. I still don't see myself
that way. I am a true Taurus (if you believe in that sort of thing). .
.stubborn and bull-headed to a fault. But bold? No. I'm
emotional, dramatic, and perhaps a bit shy until you get to know me.
But not bold. However, as I look back on the last 30 years of my
life, I see nothing but a string of bold decisions. Does boldness
lead to regret? Of course! At least occasionally. . .however you
never really know what can come of anything without taking a leap now
and then! . . .
More...
The Wailing Wall In The Holy LandMargaret Bolte (c) Copyright 2025 by Margaret Bolte |
 The Wailing Wall. Photo courtesy of the author. |
During
my trip to Israel in June 2023, our church tour group visited
Jerusalem and experienced standing on the sacred site of the Western
Wall, also known as the Wailing Wall. Upon entering the site, a
quiet, hushed atmosphere prevails. Several individuals stood and
placed their hands against the wall. This is the sacred area where
both Jews and Christians pray. . . .
RitaCharles Adolewski (c) Copyright 2025 by Charles Adolewski |
 Photo of Rita courtesy of the author. |
. . . .My
mother was a foundling. Her name was Rita. A young woman presumably
of English descent left her on the doorsteps of a French Canadian
couple living in the New England immigrant city of Lowell,
Massachusetts, in the year 1920. This Canadian-French-speaking-only
couple occupied the top two floors of a three-story tenement house in
the Centralville section of the city. . . .
Alaska CruiseRan Tao (c) Copyright 2025 by Ran Tao |
 |
I
didn't hear
the intercom and missed breakfast again. It was already eleven
o'clock when I woke up. Something about the rocking motion of a
ship and a windowless room that made me sleep so well and lose track
of time. Even my insomniac travel companion was vanquished by the
sleeping spell and slept through the night. . . .
The FarmVicki Smith (c) Copyright 2025 by Vicki Smith |
 Photo by Pauline Eccles at Wikimedia Commons. |
The
greatest joy of my life was travelling the 250 miles to my
grandparents house every summer. It was the hub of Canada and the
center of the world to me. The five of us and my parents climbed into
the station wagon and started our ritual songs on the long ride to
Ontario. "I've been working on the railroad" and "I
love to go wandering along the mountain track." Sound familiar?
It was kind of corny but then I come from a corny family. . . .
Face Or FantasyJudith Nakken (c) Copyright 2025 by Judith Nakken |
 Photo courtesy of Wikipedia. |
I
lived in a fantasy world. Early on, it was escape from a
dysfunctional childhood. As a teenager and young woman, it hid me
from the world in which I did not fit. Finally, I fell into that
world and stayed there, just to hide. Period.
Booze
helped, of course. It was only when the compartments in my mind
began to melt and merge due to sobriety that I became fully aware of
my fantasy life. A painful sorting out of that life began. . . .
More...
The House On The Edge Of The ValleyMartin Willis (c) Copyright 2025 by Martin Willis |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
journey into Molo still takes its sweet time, winding through each
curve as if the valley itself is hesitant to let you go. Our Matatu
jostled past the shimmering wheat fields under the blazing noon sun,
then dipped down toward the river where eucalyptus leaves shimmered
in shades of green and silver in the breeze. Dust billowed behind us
like a curtain being shaken loose. I pressed my forehead against the
window, letting the familiar landscape wash over me: acacia trees
standing tall on the ridgelines, tin roofs glinting in the sunlight,
goats nibbling on grass by the roadside. This issue was the map of my
childhood, the one I kept tucked away in the back of my mind,
pretending I didn't need it. . . .
More...
Mixing Politics And ReligionPeter Gagliardi (c) Copyright 2025 by Peter Gagliardi |
 An etching by Jan Luken illustrating Luke 1033-34 in the Bowyer Bible, Bolton, England. at Wikimedia Commons. |
Today I want to share my incredible story of how I
met the King of
the Universe, as I came face to face with the Lord Jesus
Christ.
I want to explain what led up to this life changing meeting, what my
life was like before I met Him, how He changed me, and what my life
is like now that I know Him. . . .
The WatchmakerAntonio D'Andrea (c) Copyright 2025 by Antonio D'Andrea |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
What
ever happened to "Stop in the name of the law" or "Stop
or I'll shoot"?
Growing
up in the 1940's and '50's, that was the standard
police warning. At least it
was in the movies. . . .
9/11 RevisitedAnne Daughtry (c) Copyright 2025 by Anne Daughtry |
 State Department Image WTC 9-11 Iron Workers at Wikimedia Commons. |
. . . ."Ladies
and Gentlemen, we have just received a communication from the FAA
ordering us to land at the nearest airport which for us right now is
Salt Lake. Please stay seated but begin to collect
your
belongings, as we will deplane
there. Please
stay together in the airport until we have information as to what
happens next. Again, we are not involved in this,
but are
taking precautions.". . .
So,
we started to look for our purses, bags, shoes and readied ourselves
for landing. I have flown in third world
countries,
overseas, in many parts of the world, but have never had to stop mid - trip with no explanation. . . .
| The
Ogre In The White Coat Sara Etgen-Baker (c) Copyright 2025 by Sara Etgen-Baker |
 Photo of courtesy of the author |
For
children living in the 1950s, tonsillectomies were popular and
considered a rite of passage. I had my tonsillectomy when I was 4
years old; it is my first truly clear childhood memory--not the
fun kind of memory--but a distinct recollection of childhood
fear fueled by my imagination. . . .
|
Laugh - All Of Life Is Fun
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo by Jopwell at Pexels |
Have
you ever given thought to fun you
have had on the job? What's that you say - you don't
remember any fun? Sorry to say, I had never given it much thought,
but as I began thinking about writing a few humorous stories from my
past, I began to realize that many funny things have happened
to me in my work life. In fact, I'm surprised at how much humor
I remember from my workplace, and how much more fun it made my
career. . . .
GiftsN. Asokan (c) Copyright 2025 by N. Asokan |
 “New Gem Dictionary” by Collins, 1974 reprint. Photo by the author. |
I
don't believe in routine gift-giving. My relatives and friends
are probably surprised and possibly offended that I don't bring
along gifts when I visit them, or neglect to give them gifts on their
birthdays or anniversaries or whatnot. . . .
| The Wedding Disaster Story (doesn't everybody have one?) Melissa Garrison Elliott
(c) Copyright 2025 by Melissa Garrison Elliott |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
A
few weeks ago I was scrolling Facebook and came upon a page that
featured "wedding disasters." There was every kind of
story, from the maid of honor with her dress tucked up into her
underwear to the bride whose groom surprised her at the reception by
picking her up and dumping her into the pool. But many of them
featured one key part of the wedding that just didn't go as
planned, and it made me think back to the "disaster" that
almost derailed mine. . . .
More...
Bionic WomanVivian Pisano (c) Copyright 2025 by Vivian Pisano |
 Photo by Timo Wagner on Unsplash |
I
pull violently out from a dream: Someone is smothering me, a pillow
stifles my airway. But there's no pillow covering my face. I
sit up, try to catch a breath. I can't. Barely enough air
passes through to my hungry lungs. I will myself to fully waken and
open my mouth wide to take in a big, deep stream of air, then
another, and again another. Air gets through, sweet air fills my
lungs; I rejoice. . . .
Love Letter To BarbequeBarbara Gordon (c) Copyright 2025 by Barbara Gordon |
 Barbara and friend. Photo courtesy of the author. |
"Barbecue
may not be the road to world peace, but it's a start." Anthony
Bourdain
Upon entering the University of Alabama at age 18, I was a Jewish Southern barbecue virgin. Growing up in a strict kosher home of observant Orthodox Jewish parents, I had never had the opportunity to taste pork, this forbidden. non-kosher meat. The ribs my father cooked on our brick BBQ pit were kosher beef. His cooking process rendered those ribs Dust Bowl-dry and tough like an old shoe. . . .
Becoming JamaicanJarmila Taud (c) Copyright 2025 by Jarmila Taud |
 Jamila with her school's netball team in 1965. Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
following true story describes our life in Jamaica after my parents
and younger sister, Zena, immigrated to Jamaica from England in 1957. Sarka is the older sister who was left behind in communist
Czechoslovakia in 1948.
We
arrived just
before Christmas. The sun was shining, and there were lots of
colorfully dressed people milling around the port area of downtown
Kingston. I was particularly fascinated by so many donkeys pulling
carts, loaded with people and produce. I had never seen a donkey
before and, like most young children, was drawn to any animal. A few
days later, we were in a place called Havendale, a suburb of
Kingston. The small apartment had two rooms, a kitchenette, and a
bathroom. As children everywhere, we were constantly fascinated by
all the many goats with their kids grazing on any vacant lot,
naturally wanting to touch and pet them. . . .
Where Love Is DeadPrincy D. Emmanuel © Copyright 2025 by Princy D. Emmanuel |
 Photo by Victor Ballesteros on Unsplash |
Let me tell you a short and true story. This is the story of my family, my parents. I was born into a family of five boys, of which I was the oldest. We were all college graduates and successfully married with a good living. All of us, my parents, were successfully married too. . . .
What The Camels KnewPretty Tekii (c) Copyright 2025 by Pretty Tekii |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
sun cracked the earth beneath my feet as I walked barefoot, my thin
dera clinging to my damp skin. The mathenge trees stood stiff,
offering no shade. Flies buzzed around me, the air thick with the
stink of goat dung and salt. It was the dry season in Isiolo,
the season of silence. . . .
| Four Oleg Daugovish (c) Copyright 2025 by Oleg Daugovish |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Normund
and I shuffled toward the edge of the flat roof of the shed and
froze. He towered above me with the confidence of a seven-year-old
who rode a two-wheeler and knew everything. Me? A scarecrow made of
sticks with a straw bundle of hair. I felt my blue shirt flopping in
the wind and tucked it into my shorts. . . .
Tribulations Of Crazy JohnMike Marks (c) Copyright 2025 by Mike Marks |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
once had a buddy I called Crazy John. He came from a dinky town in
Nebraska--Holdrege--place where they made cloth labels
for shirts on giant looms. He never wanted to go back. He was
half-blind and way too tall. C J majored in political science at
Kansas State and was all about revolutions. . . .
NonnaVittoria Allen (c) Copyright 2025 by Vittoria Allen |
 Nonna. Photo courtesy of the author. |
My
Nonna has been gone for over 10 years and I can still smell the
acidic tomatoes on the stove bubbling to a slowly cooked perfection.
I can smell the coffee brewing on the stove morning and evening. I
can still hear the sound of her unwrapping the pound cake she'd
made in bulk and froze--warming it up to sing us happy
birthday when it wasn’t even close to it. She made ordinary
days extraordinary with a simple defrost and a candle. . . .
The Hand of the LawLazarus Trubman (c) Copyright 2025 by Lazarus Trubman |
 Photo by Feodor Chistyakov on Unsplash |
. . . . Dr.
Igor Dolsky is a Muscovite, who immigrated to the United States in
1990, a few months before I did. We were introduced to one another at
a college basketball game,,and after I told Igor a brief story about
my time in a Strict-Regime Colony in Northern Russia, he offered me
his services as a cardiologist and wouldn't take no for an
answer. . . .
It was a long hour, an agitating hour, as I, my wife and our two daughters waited patiently in the spacious lobby of the First City Hospital on the corner of Chisinau Street and Dostoevsky Boulevard. I held the folder with all the necessary documents under my armpit, as if afraid that it might suddenly disappear into the thin air.
Medical ExaminationLazarus Trubman (c) Copyright 2025 by Lazarus Trubman |
Photo by CDC on Unsplash |
It was a long hour, an agitating hour, as I, my wife and our two daughters waited patiently in the spacious lobby of the First City Hospital on the corner of Chisinau Street and Dostoevsky Boulevard. I held the folder with all the necessary documents under my armpit, as if afraid that it might suddenly disappear into the thin air.
Exactly
three months till our departure for America. . . .
Moxie Versus The DeerKurt Schmidt (c) Copyright 2025 by Kurt Schmidt |
 Photo by kitty.green66 at Wikimedia Commons. |
My
neighbor acquired a young cat, Moxie, which may have been too curious
when it came to stalking large animals. It took her older cat, Mango,
about a year to get used to having the newcomer bouncing around in his
space. Moxie was a tiny, mottled black-brown cat with long legs and
incredible speed. He arrived as a kitten but soon became a flash
through my yard. His mistress said he would saunter up to big dogs, a
bit cautiously but seemingly without an ounce of fear. . . .
The Secret AnimalHolly Rose Scott (c) Copyright 2025 by Holly Rose Scott |
 Photo by Jack Hamilton on Unsplash |
I
first decided I wanted to be a novelist in the dying half of Year
Eleven. Before that, I wrote fanfiction. Not in the way people say
they "wrote fanfiction" with a wink and a blush--as
if it was silly or embarrassing--but in the way you might spend
hours building a little cardboard town and then refuse to let your
parents throw it out. . . .
AmmachySunitha Mary Mookken (c) Copyright 2025 by Sunitha Mary Mookken |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
This
is my grandmother's story. We belong to a Christian family in
Kerala, India.
When M.Thomakutty met N.Kunjanam, he finally consented to get married.
Thomakutty was my Appachen (grandfather) and Kunjanam my Ammachy (grandmother). . . .
The Girl Who Rewrote SilenceSwabrah Nabuuma © Copyright 2025 by Swabrah Nabuuma |
Photo by Colin Fearing at Pexels. |
In
the drought-stricken
town of Makiri, tucked away in the forgotten hills of Eastern Africa,
life moved slowly—too slowly for dreams to survive. The days
were long, the water was scarce, and the air carried an invisible
weight: silence. Not the silence of peace, but the kind that came
from years of being ignored. Forgotten by policy. Overlooked by
opportunity. Silenced by tradition.
More...
Across The SeaZoe Fowler (c) Copyright 2025 by Zoe Fowler |
 Image of S. S. President Cleveland courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
My
father lived in the United States for about ten years. In order to
gain citizenship, you had to live in America for at least four or
five years--and that's exactly what he did. The goal was
always to bring the whole family over. We all pictured America as a
free country, a land of possibility where things wouldn't be as
hard as before. My father wanted us to have what people called a "better" life. The famous American Dream. . . .
The Circle Of LifeOlivia Harmon (c) Copyright 2025 by Olivia Harmon |
 Photo of Olivia, Heidi, her grandmother, and grandfather. |
When
someone close to you dies, it hurts your soul. Whether it be a
natural cause, such as disease or old age, or it is something less
natural like a car accident. It's an unnatural feeling to have
a conversation with someone you love one day, just for you to mourn
them the next. I felt that exact feeling when my grandmother died of
Stage 4 uterine cancer. . . .
A Story Of ReconciliationZane Fanning (c) Copyright 2025 by Zane Fanning |
 Photo coutesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
100
nautical miles east of Halifax sits the village of Drum Head. Before
the demise of the cod fishery, it was a thriving community like so
many others nestled along Nova Scotia's saw-toothed coastline.
Many of the once fine homes are now crumbling ruins or have long
disappeared under coarse grass and alders and only a handful of
descendants remain. . . .
More...
In Search Of My Missing PiecesChristina Hoag (c) Copyright 2025 by Christina Hoag |
 The English-style bungalows in Mufulira, Zambia. Photo courtesy of the author. |
Alice Takes No PrisonersHeather Bingham (c) Copyright 2025 by Heather Bingham |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
first met Alice in the early 1990s when her husband, Les, was still
alive. They were the parents of my partner, Graham, the eldest of
their 3 sons. My first impression? Well, she was certainly
forthright! Indeed, she had (and still does have!) a tendency to
speak her mind about everything, including, of course, all her sons'
relationships. . . .
| Buddha In A Teacup: Metaphors
Linda Leaming Thimphu
(c) Copyright 2025 by Linda Leaming Thimphu
|
 |
June 12, 2025
You'll feel Bhutan's quiet power the moment you land in Paro. I felt it the first time I arrived in 1994. For fast learners, a week or two is enough to sense its transformative potential. I'm a bit slower. I've lived here for nearly 30 years; the blink of an eye. I can't say with any certainty whether I've made progress on my spiritual path. . . .
What Happened After 40 Days On The DesertLaura Labno (c) Copyright 2020 by Laura Labno |
 Photo by Anna Nekrashevich at Pexels. |
Albert
placed a glass
of water on his bedside table, just right to a silver vase which
- one must state it at the very beginning--was utterly ugly.
Unfortunately, it was a gift which he received a few months ago, when
he moved into this very apartment. Albert didn't want to make
this place look, or feel, too personal and for this reason he wasn't
too keen on decorating it. . . .
Silence Is Never GoldenArlene Borsky (c) Copyright 2025 by Arlene Borsky |
 Image by Kristina Flour on Unsplash. |
Let
me set the story straight right from the beginning. I came from a
loving home. My parents worked hard, and while we didn't have
much, we had enough. In some ways, I guess I was luckier than many
others who maybe went to bed hungry or didn't have a warm coat
or hat. . . .
When Life Puts You In The Spiritual SqueezeKelly Maida (c) Copyright 2025 by Kelly Maida |
 Image by MITCH WRIGHT from Pixabay |
They
say in life we have ups and downs. And they say it comes in three's.
But what happens when life keeps ripping the carpet out from
under you and doesn't let up? It's like somehow my life
turned into Jaws Revenge, where Jaws chased the family from New
England all the way to the Bahamas! They say to look to find
the lesson or the good in your circumstances. Sorry but after so many
hits, I can only find humor. . . .
| The
Buster Incident Koda Christensen (c) Copyright 2025 by Koda Christensen |
 Photo courtesy of Pixabay. |
"What is that?" Louis asks, pointing to a short, shadowed creature walking towards us. I squint from the swingset.
"What the hell?" The creature is short and stout. It's--
"A cat!" Alison cheers, bounding up to it. . . .
More...
This Is What It Feels Like To Be IgnoredChris Caswell (c) Copyright 2025 by Chris Caswell |
 Photo by Veronica Benavides on Unsplash |
I'm
not writing this for pity.
I'm writing it because if I don't, I'm gonna lose my mind.
Because when you fight every day just to keep your family together, and the world keeps pretending you don't exist--
Two Truths And A LieSharman Ober-Reynolds (c) Copyright 2025 by Sharman Ober-Reynolds |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
arc of scientific discovery is long and bends slowly toward progress.
Before "science," the best physicians in England examined
King George III's poop and urine and blistered his back with
heated cups. They
tried strait
jackets, arsenic-containing drugs, and soaking his feet in water and
vinegar. Some of his
doctors thought his
illness resulted from wearing wet socks, eating peas, or "flying gout," which flew
to
his brain from his painful feet. The King was
psychotic,
maybe from Porphyria; more likely, he had bipolar disorder and later
dementia, and the battle for his
mind was
crude, frightening, and finally ridiculous.
| NICU
Experience James
Sclater (c) Copyright 2016 by James Sclater
|
 Photo by Christian Bowen on Unsplash |
Over
the course of the first five years of our marriage my wife had two
miscarriages. The first one saw us lose a little boy at about 4
months; the second was barely a month into term. We soon were made
aware of how common our situation was. Many of our friends told us of
similar experiences and comforted us as best they could. At that
point there was no indication of a medical problem for my wife. She
liked her ob-gyn doctor and trusted him to take care of her. . . .
| How A Piece Of Chalk Changed My Life Lee Anne Bisogno-Chiulli (c) Copyright 2025 by Lee Anne Bisogno-Chiulli |
 Artwork (c) 2025 by the author. |  Artwork (c) 2025 by the author. |
A
stream of dog walkers, joggers, bicycle riders, and pedestrians,
their faces hidden behind masks with heads hung low, making no eye
contact with others--this is what I witnessed from my front
porch each day, one month into the COVID-19 pandemic. I imagined that
everyone was feeling the same emotions that I was: fear, uncertainty,
and weariness. Their minds must also have been swirling with
questions. When could we go back to work? When would school reopen?
Would life ever go back to normal? Are we going to be okay? And
though I did not know most of these passersby, I felt compelled to
connect with them somehow. My introverted self would never have the
courage to shout, "Hi! How are you? We're all in this
together!" So, how could I spread joy, hope, and positivity in
my small corner of the world? . . . .
|
Proof Of My Existence
Carl Winderl (c) Copyright 2024 by Carl Winderl |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
What more does any14-year-old desire as much or more so than anything else in his barely prepubescent day-mare world--but proof of his existence.
Well,
that's how it was for me. . . .
More...
I Was Not Created In VainMy Journey With Anxiety and OCD Yasmin Tarek (c) Copyright 2025 by Yasmin Tarek |
 Image (c) 2025 by Yasmin Terek |
When
I was a teenager, fear of hurting someone, making mistakes, or doing
something wrong terrified me--until my diagnosis of anxiety and
OCD.
Blood On Two LandsPretty Tekii (c) Copyright 2025 by Pretty Tekii |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
left Isiolo with the wind howling behind me and a scar that still
wept beneath my dress. The fertile hills of Meru promised a new name,
a new husband, and a life far from the silence I was raised in. But
blood, I've learned, doesn't stay buried. It stains. It
whispers. It travels
with you--across dry borders, across beds, across births. I had
bled in one land, but I was about to bleed in another--this
time. not just from my body, but from the wound of being seen. . . .
The CallAbbie Creed (c) Copyright 2025 by Abbie Creed |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
It
was a hot summer day in July when the phone rang. It was the
associate pastor from our church calling and asked if I would be
willing to teach Sunday School for the children who would be
attending public school. It seems that the Catholic School Board had
made the decision to drop the first three grades and continue to fund
the other five grades of Catholic Elementary Education. . . .
The SearchAbbie Creed (c) Copyright 2025 by Abbie Creed |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My children were all in school when I began taking classes for Catechist Certification, I was extremely interested in the classes on Sacred Scripture. I was fascinated with the ways that God was actively present and working in and through the events and everyday lives of his people. Sometimes this activity was easily recognizable and other times it was very vague. You had to look for his presence. . . .
The Great Rift ValleyChristian Emecheta (c) Copyright 2025 by Christian Emecheta |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
wasn't expecting
it. I never saw it coming.
The moment I stepped to the edge of the Great Rift Valley, my heart stopped. The earth simply fell away beneath me--a colossal gash torn through the African continent, stretching beyond sight. Vertigo gripped me as I stood thousands of miles from my comfortable Lagos office. That's when I knew my carefully planned safari itinerary was about to become useless. . . .
The moment I stepped to the edge of the Great Rift Valley, my heart stopped. The earth simply fell away beneath me--a colossal gash torn through the African continent, stretching beyond sight. Vertigo gripped me as I stood thousands of miles from my comfortable Lagos office. That's when I knew my carefully planned safari itinerary was about to become useless. . . .
Memoirs Of An African BoyDivon Giturwa (c) Copyright 2025 by Divon Giturwa |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Memoirs of an African Boy is a reflective and atmospheric account of early boyhood in a rural Kenyan township, narrated through episodic memoirs. The selected excerpts trace the interior world of a young boy raised by his aunt, Utheri, in the highland township settlement of Kĩgeria. . . .
| In
The Space Where A Name Was Erased Luke Liu (c) Copyright 2025 by Luke Liu |
 Family ancestrial ritual photo copyright (c) 2025 by Luke Liu. |
I
kneeled before the altar, my knees planted firmly on a red cushion
that had been worn thin with age. Winds of incense slowly spiraled
upward. Sandalwood drifted in with its calm aroma, subtly heightening
the contrast of this ancient ambiance. To me, the smell is ancient,
familiar in a way that drew something from the depths of my chest. . . .
| The
Ancestor In The Stone Chair Luke Liu (c) Copyright 2025 by Luke Liu |
 Photo copyright (c) 2025 by Luke Liu. |
I
climb the green mountain with my father, each step stirring the scent
of damp earth and pine. It is Qingming, the Tomb-Sweeping Festival.
High above, a curved white tomb perches on the slope like a throne
waiting for its king. Locals call it a yizi fen--"chair
tomb'--because it resembles
a
grand armchair carved from stone. Indeed, the grave's
semi-circular walls rise at my grandfather's
back and sides, sheltering him in death as an armchair would in life.
In front is a low platform where we now stand, facing the silence of
that stone seat. . . .
The Truth UntoldAn Essay on the Emotional Architecture of Indian ChildhoodKashish Kamboj (c) Copyright 2025 by Kashish Kamboj |
 Photo by Barth Bailey on Unsplash |
My
father threw a chair at me. My mother slapped me twice across the face,
so
hard that a scar was imprinted--so deep, it remains engraved to this day. . . .
| The
Rosetta Stone Decoding Ancient Egypt Zulaikha Amryn Shamsheer (c) Copyright 2025 by Zulaikha Amryn Shamsheer |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
The articfact I am
talking about is an extremely important discovery, playing a key role
in uncovering the secrets of Ancient Egypt. This artifact in question
is called the Rosetta stone. This artifact is a black slab made out
of a material called granodiorite. It is about 3 feet 5 inches in height and
2 feet 5.8 inches in width. It also has 3 scripts engraved into it which would
later lead to more discoveries. I am covering this topic not only
because I want to express the importance of Acient Egypt, but also
the thrill of the discoveries uncovered because of it. . . .
| How Would I Know Sicelo Khoza (c) Copyright 2025 by Sicelo Khoza |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Nine
plus eight equals seventeen. Right? I had the fingers to count this
out in Grade 1. And I did. I spread my fingers out over the cold
white test paper that was handed out to us by our teacher, Mrs.
Young. I whispered the numbers as quietly as I could so I wouldn't
bother the girl writing next to me. I don't remember her name,
but she was cute and was the closest thing I had to a crush at six
years old. . . .
|
Lazarus
Revisited Giles Ryan (c) Copyright 2025 by Giles Ryan
|
 Photo by Ad Meskens at Wikimedia Commons. |
Many among us recall early school days when we read The New Collosus, the poem by Emma Lazarus now enshrined at the Statue of Liberty on the islet in New York City harbor. Some of us were required to memorize it, but even if not, we all recognize the last lines of her sonnet:
"...Give
me
your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe
free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Sandra Lindsay: The Nurse Who Took The First ShotA True Story of
Family,
Courage, and Calm in a Crisis
Sabaha Amir Rana (c) Copyright 2025 by Sabaha Amir Rana |
 Photo by olia danilevich at Pexels. |
Long before the world saw her face on the news, Sandra Lindsay was just a quiet, focused girl growing up in Clarendon, Jamaica. She was one of six siblings in a big, close-knit family. Her mother, a hardworking woman who valued education and discipline, made sure her children were raised with strong values. Sandra often helped care for her younger siblings, and even at a young age, she stood out as a helper. . . .
Nana BananaMarilynn Zipes Wallace (c) Copyright 2025 by Marilynn Zipes Wallace |
 Photo by Anita Jankovic on Unsplash |
I
called her "Nana Banana". She called me "Puzzy Wuzzy". She came to live with us when I
was five--shortly after my granddad had died--enabling
my mother to go back to work. I can close my eyes
right
now and conjure up her bright blue eyes and wispy white hair. . . .
The Woman From The Little KingdomInkar Abduakhit (c) Copyright 2025 by Inkar Abduakhit |
 Photo by Laura Mann on Unsplash |
A
Kingdom for One
A bitter winter evening. Almaty city.
The cold pierced to the bone. People on the streets moved quickly, silently, without looking at each other. In the middle of this silent rush, a woman stood out--poorly dressed, unfamiliar, a stranger to everyone. She looked to be in her forties, her face pale, skin stretched with fine lines and shadows. Her eyes seemed hollow, her lips chapped. She wore a torn, faded coat, and on her feet--old galoshes, nearly falling apart. Her teeth, few and far between, were not whole. Neither was she. . . .
More...
Nine DaysLisa Christian (c) Copyright 2025 by Lisa Christian |
 Image by Parentingupstream from Pixabay |
It
was one of those bright, crisp October mornings that make you believe
there is a God. Funny how by the end of the day, I would be on my
knees praying to said entity to please, please stop the nightmare. . . .
Elephants of the HoanibA Love AffairFrances Valdes (c) Copyright 2025 by Frances Valdes |
 Stumpie's herd. Photo courtesy of the author. |
In
my dreams I see Stumpie. I see her where sand dunes gather at the
base of mountains. I see her amongst small herds of springbok and
oryx grazing on green bushes. I see her majestically walking, slow
but assertive, along the dry riverbed. A walk saying 'I am the
largest mammal to walk this planet, you will move out of my
way'. . . .
More...
The Terror of the IslandSabaha Amir Rana (c) Copyright 2025 by Sabaha Amir Rana |
 Photo by Basile Morin at Wikimedia Commons. |
There
it finally is. Our island. Our very own island. It looks beautiful
above the waves of fog, but there are still questions to be answered;
Why have we gotten it for only $5? Why did the brokers meet dad in
secret? These thoughts are rushing through your brain. . . .
Loved First: A Fathers War For His DaughterDerick Blakes (c) Copyright 2025 by Derick Blakes |
 Photo by Ari Dinar on Unsplash |
This
is a true story of fatherhood, regret, and redemption. As a young man
struggling to become the father I never had, I lost my daughter
Dakota to silence and misunderstanding. This chapter from my life
reflects both the cost of absence and the power of a father's
intercession to redeem what was nearly lost. I offer it in hope that
it speaks to parents and children alike who are still reaching across
the wounds of time. . . .
Central MemoriesLucian W. Dressel Fire excapt tube from the second floor of school. Photos courtesy of the National Archives. (c) Copyright 2025 by Lucian W. Dressel |
 |
 |
. . . It
was the only time
I ever saw our grade school principal cry. It was a perfect day in
early June and the last day of school. My class and I had just
finished the 6th grade. I can't exactly say that we had "graduated," since they didn't have graduation
ceremonies for grade schools in those days, at least not in Granite
City, Illinois, in 1952. But we were moving up none the less. We were
going to be with the "big kids" next fall. We would be
going to Central Junior High School. . . .
More...
Jesus at the Rite AidJewel Beth Davis (c) Copyright 2025 by Jewel Beth Davis |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
walk through the aisles of the local Rite Aid in Dover. Convenient
but high priced and crammed with marketing ploys: bright lights and
primary colors, much like McDonald's. Signs jump out at me
like animated electronic waves grabbing onto me to distract from my
goal. . . .
A CandleShaik Yasmeen (c) Copyright 2025 by Shaik Yasmeen |
 Photo by lafabse at Pixabay. |
This
piece is a spoken letter in the third person, capturing a journey
through emotional turmoil, burnout, and the quiet act of choosing
oneself. It was written as an honest outpouring after surviving a
traumatic experience in 2022 and dealing with the emotional weight of
family expectations, anxiety, and personal heartbreak. . . .
| Lessons
From a Monocotyledon Priye Gift Johnson (c) Copyright 2025 by Priye Gift Johnson |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The rain is at its peak. As a living being whose source of income depends greatly on this mad, sometimes infuriating and unpredictable weather. I might as well want to consider taking some extra lessons at weather forecasting. But I don't. Instead, I just discover that the gift of weather-reading naturally springs up on its own like the lean yam tuber that chooses to grow inspite of the leaking pipe soaking it daily underneath my kitchen sink. . . .
This Is How I WorryAdeoluwa Deborah Mercy (c) Copyright 2025 by Adeoluwa Deborah Mercy |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
know I'm a worrier.
But not the usual kind.
I don't worry that my "s" lacks the perfect curves after I submit my exam answer scripts. I don’t fret that my e's sometimes look like c's or even i's without the dot. I don't even worry that my hair's been loosened and unmade for like 5 weeks thereabouts. And I don't worry that I might fall or miss a step when I choose to walk on those narrow concrete coverts instead of walking on the actual road.
Dad Didn't Appear In SearchFrank Edejoro Miller (c) Copyright 2025 by Frank Edejoro Miller |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
If
not for late Grandma Martha, I probably wouldn't be writing
this story. And if I did write it, it would have taken a very
different form, perhaps something like the success stories of Samuel
Eto'o, Didier Drogba, Mohamed Salah, Nwankwo Kanu, or any other
African who rose to fame and fortune by showcasing exceptional
talent. . . .
Dinner Under The DownpourNimisha Ajaikumar (c) Copyright 2025 by Nimisha Ajaikumar |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
"The stupid tiffin guy has cancelled our dinner," my roommate barked, slamming the door of our shared bedroom in Pune.
I massaged my temples. "How will we fend for ourselves?". . .
Return To Teal LakeJames Flanigan (c) Copyright 2025 by James Flanigan |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
For
sixty years, I harbored a desire to return to Teal Lake in the
Northwoods of Wisconsin. I wasn’t sure why. Was it to evoke
memories from my past? Was it to find something I was looking for?
Perhaps something I had lost. . .or maybe never had. Regardless
of the reason, I kept a return to Teal Lake on my "to do"
list for six decades. . . .
Biography Of A Tenacious PersonRaman Kuppuswamy (c) Copyright 2025 by Raman Kuppuswamy |
 Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons |
My
father-in-law used to be an affable person, but he could be menacing
when dealing with his suppliers. His suppliers were poor
plantain-growing agriculturists. My father-in-law used to buy bananas
from these suppliers and sell them on a commission basis. Perhaps due
to his uncheerful occupation and his fixation on business supremacy,
his attitude towards his suppliers was intimidating. So, it was not
surprising that most of this brigade hated my father-in-law. . . .
PopsAl Simon, Jr. (c) Copyright 2025 by Al Simon, Jr. |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
come from a generation of getting spanked when I was a kid. My dad
never spanked me, but he did make me cry once.
I
wanted some candy one day and the smallest he had was a 50-cent
piece. This was in the early 60s, and you could get 2 pieces of candy
for a penny. I'm sure Dad told me not to blow the whole 50 cents, but
I did. . . .
Awakening The FutureAn EssayPlamen Vasilev (c) Copyright 2025 by Plamen Vasilev |
 Wheat field, Bulgaria. Image by Zhivko Dimitrov from Pixabay |
As
I stand on the precipice of what feels like an irrevocable change,
the weight of our climate crisis presses heavily on my heart.
The
Earth,
our shared sanctuary, is not merely a backdrop for human activity but
a living, breathing entity that has nurtured countless generations. . . .
Trap DoorHenry Herreman (c) Copyright 2025 by Henry Herreman |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
One
autumn Saturday I couldn't find anything to do. My brother
and my friends were all busy, and I was desperate. I put on
my jacket and walked over to Jefferson School. Maybe there
would be someone to play with. Alas, there was not a soul
around. I was about ready to head for home when I remembered
something.
Tucked
in a bay behind the school, where no one could see it, was a fire
escape. My friends and I had been planning to climb it for a
long time, hoping to get on the roof of the school. We were
never able to because there was always someone hanging around. There
was no one now! . . .
An Underwater AdventureRita McDermott (c) Copyright 2025 by Rita McDermott |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
love to travel. I live for one adventure to the next. I especially
love tropical islands with crystal clear, turquoise waters and white
sandy beaches. I love coral reefs and the colorful fish that dart
from one hiding place to another.
Each year I plan a great adventure to a new destination with budding excitement about what awaits me there. In 2018, I decided to travel to the land of Belize. My cousin, as well as a most suitable travel companion, decided to join in on the experience.
| Color
Codes Oleg Daugovish (c) Copyright 2025 by Oleg Daugovish |
 Perception of colour by subjects affected by different types of colour blindness. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Taking after John Dalton, I see colors differently than ninety percent of the people. Such a gentle disability, it calls for challenge and heart-felt ridicule.
| Act Oleg Daugovish (c) Copyright 2025 by Oleg Daugovish |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
The
cars in the sluggish Los Angeles traffic clog the lanes around us
like blood clots in the arteries of a sick patient.
"I'm bored." My eight-year-old Sofie whines from the backseat. "Can I have your phone?"
"No. Mom uses it for directions, but I can tell you a story." I insist. . . .
| Things
I Inherited From My Mother That Money Couldn't Buy Ezeh Charity Ogechi (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezeh Charity Ogechi |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commonsy. |
The
first language I learned wasn't English or Igbo. It was
silence.
Not
the kind that comes when the generator goes off in the middle of a
Nollywood film, or when the house is still before dawn. I mean the
heavy, deliberate kind--the silence that lingers in a room long
after words have been swallowed. The kind that my mother mastered so
well it might as well have been stitched into her wrapper.
| Not Every Nigerian Is Hustling For
Visa Ezeh Charity Ogechi (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezeh Charity Ogechi |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commonsy. |
"Are
you still in that country?" The text came with a laughing emoji,
but it didn't feel funny. It landed like a slap-casual,
condescending, final. I didn't reply. What was I supposed to say? "Yes, I'm still here. Still trying. Still believing." Would
that even make sense?
| The
Most Beautiful Things Debra Jo Myers (c) Copyright 2025 by Debra Jo Myers |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
My whole body was filled with excitement. I put my coat over my pajamas and ran to the car. When I was a little girl just over three, my baby brother was born. Daddy woke me late at night and told me it was time for Mommy to go to the hospital and for me to go stay with Grandma Gigi. They had gone over the plan with me. When the time came, Gigi would watch me, and we would make my favorite blueberry pancakes while we waited on the baby. I've treasured that feeling, as it is my first real memory. It is often how we are feeling at a specific time that triggers our memories. All it takes is just that one thing.
|
1960 Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Djembayz courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
In
1960, the White Afrikaner undemocratic racist Nationalist Government
of South Africa was at its cruelest against all non-White South
Africans. That Government took over from the racist White British
Empire authorities in 1948. . . .
Finding Redfish LakeJac Roberson (c) Copyright 2025 by Jac Roberson |
 Photo of Redfish Lake Lodge courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Traveling the vast western states has
always been
desirable and enjoyable for my family. Just driving from one
beautiful location to another makes any trip worthwhile. We were
always on the lookout for the next trip's destination. Our
family first visited Redfish Lake several years ago with our children
while taking an extensive vacation from Austin, Texas. We always
took summer trips to the mountains and the West to escape the heat
and humidity. . . .
More...
A child of a military man, I suppose so--that's me. We moved,
A Leather Coat and a ShotgunRoger Pagel (c) Copyright 2025 by Roger Pagel |
 Photo by Anna Evans on Unsplash |  Image by Emilian Robert Vicol from Pixabay |
A child of a military man, I suppose so--that's me. We moved,
like every three years--during my formative years,
whatever that is supposed to mean.
The Chaotic Mix of Love and PrincessesSubha Safayet Shizda (c) Copyright 2025 by Subha Safayet Shizda |
 Photo courtesy of Ebay. |
Growing
up, I was always surrounded with dolls, toys, books, clothes, candy.
I always had whatever I wanted right at my fingertips. I just had to
say the word, and there it was. Anything and everything a child's
heart could wish for. I was my parents' only child, and they
wanted to give me the world, so walking into the house was like the
entrance to a toy shop--huge, colorful, and filled to the brim with
cars, Legos, plushies, dolls, kitchens, dollhouses, coloring books
and whatnot. It was anything and everything a child could wish for.
| Treasure in the Attic Vivienne Holtzhausen (c) Copyright 2025 by Vivienne Holtzhausen |
 Photo by Karin Chantanaprayura at Pexels. |
We bought the farm when Andre retired. Our lifelong dream - a house in the countryside, mountain views, space for livestock and to grow our own fruit and vegetables. A bonus was that there was a large two bedroom cottage on the property which we could convert into a guest house to generate a small income.
The cottage was a bungalow with a low, pitched roof. At the back of the building there was a door into the attic, about twelve feet above ground level. We tried every key we were given but none would open the door. . . .
More...
ConscriptedAin't Having No More Fun Jac Roberson (c) Copyright 2025 by Jac Roberson |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Everyone’s
life is different. My life is one of those. I've had many
great times in my life, primarily meeting and marrying my wife. We
were married for almost 54 years when she died of heart failure. We
adopted two children who gave us the greatest of pleasures. Three
grandchildren added to those pleasures. Of course, many other things
and people have added to the better times of my life.
Nothing To FearPamella Laird (c) Copyright 2025 by Pamella Laird |
 Image by Michael De Groot from Pixabay
|
. . . . I
was spread-eagled, face down on the dining room floor--but why? I looked
at my watch, 2.14 am. It was dark and I was frozen. The last
I recall was going through to the study to sit at my computer and
finish a story that seemed anxious to be told. But that had been
around 8 o'clock the previous evening, when even though it was
getting late, I'd felt so well and full of energy. . . .
Travels With My FriendBarbara Wood (c) Copyright 2025 by Barbara Wood |
|
My husband died, but dwelling on that is still painful. I was lucky to meet Chris, who is my travelling companion and he makes me laugh. He is a little eccentric. I think he was born in the wrong era as he likes everything that's old: old films, old books, old furniture, old hotels. I like old, characterful hotels too, but I always have to check the star rating before he books as the days when I didn't mind 'roughing it' are long gone. . . .
|
Spot The Gorilla Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Charles J. Sharp at Wikimedia Commons. |
In
2023 a travelling Circus Company resurrected itself after an absence
of six years.
During
those dormant years the Company had been reconstituted into being the
world's largest Circus free of animal acts. It was,,
probably, also the world's first commercial Circus ever to be free of animal acts. . . .
probably, also the world's first commercial Circus ever to be free of animal acts. . . .
The BreadwinnerBarbara Wood (c) Copyright 2025 by Barbara Wood |
|
The
Breadwinner was my father who died in 1988. A few of the
anecdotes from his early life were told to me by Dad himself, but
most came from my aunties who all loved him very much. They told me 'Fred was special', but I already knew that. . . .
A Journey Of Hope And GratitudeSwabrah Nabuuma (c) Copyright 2025 by Swabrah Nabuuma |
Photo by Nataliya Vaitkevich at Pexels. |
Swabie
is an accomplished graphic designer and a
journalist based in Kampala
City in Uganda.
Born and raised in the vibrant city of Kyazanga
Lwengo, Swabie
developed an early
passion for creativity. She attended the university
of Islamic university in
Uganda where I
purchased a degree in mass communication. Specializing in graphic
designing and anchoring, where she honed her skills in
both
traditional and digital forms. . . .
The VisitorsFrank Wiener (c) Copyright 2025 by Frank Wiener |
 Photo by James St. John at Wikimedia Commons. |
The deer who visit me never
announce their arrival in advance. Approaching silently in an otherwise
noisy, invasive, and discordant world, they seem to arrive out of the
clear blue, acting as if our bird feeder serves as their personal
drive-up, fast-food window. From where do they come? What dangerous and
deadly roads have they crossed to reach my backyard? . . .
|
Triskaidekaphobia Ezra Azra (C) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by aleksandar-cvetanovic at Pexels |
Triskaidekaphobia
is the name of the traditional fear of the number thirteen.
This is a fear that is found in persons world wide, from pre-Christian times to the present. In these times of advanced rational Science in high civilizations, it is still easy to find modern buildings that skip the number thirteen in the numbering of rooms, and entire floors of rooms. . . .
This is a fear that is found in persons world wide, from pre-Christian times to the present. In these times of advanced rational Science in high civilizations, it is still easy to find modern buildings that skip the number thirteen in the numbering of rooms, and entire floors of rooms. . . .
What Is Buried Beneath The Scattered RemainsKelly Maida (c) Copyright 2025 by Kelly Maida |
 Photo by patrick-nizan at Pexels |
I
was 17 years old. Filled with life. I loved to dance. In fact I used to
take dance lessons as a child. I would constantly turn on the music and
dance and swirl around . I felt my life was full of possibilities. I
have always had a vivid imagination. I used to be a very trusting
person. Our whole world can change in the blink of an eye. . . .
Call Me By My NameOluwaferanmi Fadayomi (c) Copyright 2025 by Oluwaferanmi Fadayomi |
 Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash |
"O-lu. . .O-loo. . .Oluwaf. . .The teacher's voice echoed hesitantly in the classroom. My heart pounded and my hands shook. I raised my hand before they could finish, before my name became unrecognizable. "It's Farrah" I muttered, trying to keep my voice stable, sealing away the name my mother gave me. . . .
Together We CanManisha Sharma (c) Copyright 2025 by Manisha Sharma |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
The
morning air carried a cool promise of spring as I joined a group of
volunteers at the Meadoway for an Earth Day cleanup event organized
by the TRCA (Toronto and Region Conservation Authority). Meadoway is
Toronto's ambitious urban green corridor, a beautiful stretch
of green space in the city where wildflowers grow, bees buzz, and you
can hear birds sing instead of traffic. . . .
| The
Frank Stockton Dilemma: The Lady or The Tiger Teddy Toofi Biney (c) Copyright 2025 by Teddy Yoofi Biney |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Short
stories are not just supposed to be brief. They need to have
intriguing titles, an excellent hook, and teach a moral or two--hough
this isn't
always necessary. Titles like "A Very Old Man With Enormous
Wings," "Hills Like White Elephants," "The
Nutcracker and the Mouse King," and "Twenty-six Men and a
Girl" are excellent examples of memorable ones that stand out. . . .
| Toxic
Positivity in an Age of Positive Thinking and False Happiness Teddy Toofi Biney (c) Copyright 2025 by Teddy Yoofi Biney |
 Photo by Vash Choi on Unsplash |
. . . .If
you've watched the 2015 American animated movie Inside
Out,
you'll notice that it subtly addresses themes that are closely
related to false or fake happiness and suppressed emotions. The
protagonist, Riley Anderson, becomes emotionally mature only when she
embraces the full range of her emotions or personalities--Joy,
Sadness, Fear, Disgust, and Anger. . . .
Angels In BloomKelly Maida (c) Copyright 2025 by Kelly Maida |
 Photo by Javardh on Unsplash |
There once was a beautiful
home that looked like a witch's cottage. I almost missed out on
this home . You see I was looking in a particular area. But sometimes
in life fate steps in and lends us a hand. One day after looking at
homes, my realtor showed me a home that just appeared on the market.
I took one look at it and I knew right away I was interested. The
events that happened next were extraordinary and forever life
changing. . . .
| What Goes Around Comes Around Bheka Pierce (c) Copyright 2025 by Bheka Pierce |
 Photo (c) 2025 by the author. |
In
southern Africa, serving in the Peace Corps in Swaziland in the early
1970s, I found the love of my life, a Danish lass, whose outer and
inner beauty were joined into one. We married, taught together in a
bush school built by her father, took a walking tour up Africa, made
it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, and eventually settled in
Denmark, where we raised two children, and worked together at the
Copenhagen International School for twenty years before ALS took her
from us. . . .
More...
Four Animal StoriesIshani Ganguly (c) Copyright 2025 by Ishani Ganguly |
 Photo courtesy of Bethany McCarter at Wikimedia Commons. |
When
people speak of wild encounters, they often imagine roaring beasts,
jungle trails, or eye-to-eye moments with danger. But some encounters
are quieter. They pass like shadows across water, and yet they
remain--deeply, permanently. I didn't go looking for dolphins
that morning. I was simply present--and perhaps, that made all the
difference. . . .
| Memory - The Light Of Other Days
Eva Bell
(c) Copyright 2025 by Eva Bell
|
 |
In Charlotte Bronte's words "A memory without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure."
Most
people treasure memories of happy events - marriages,
birthdays, days of love and laughter, conjuring up emotions of events
gone by. Many prefer to forget memories that are sad and bring tears
to one's eyes. But sometimes we never realize the value of
incidents until they become a memory. . . .
Monkey BusinessNimisha Ajaikumar (c) Copyright 2025 by Nimisha Ajaikumar |
 Photo by Tobias on Unsplash |
During
the summer vacation of 2015, I temporarily left my Dubai school
behind and returned home to Kochi, hoping to escape the scorching
desert heat. My dad, always up for an adventure, decided we should
take a family road trip to Thekkady, a forested town in Kerala's
Idukki district. . . .
When Nature AttacksGeorge R. Frost (c) Copyright 2025 by George R. Frost |
 Photo by Stefanos Nt on Unsplash. |
When Nature attacks,
we are usually the losers especially when we are facing a massive
ferocious creature, but in my encounter, the creature was far from
massive or all that ferocious, but it turned out make quiet an
impression, nonetheless.
Spending my time, residing and wandering the redwood forests around the Russian River, my encounter with a truly wild animal occurred in the middle of Santa Rosa, California. . . .
BittenSarah Hinson (c) Copyright 2025 by Sarah Hinson |
 Photo by Andreas Staver at Pexels. |
. . . Sarah and her friends often went camping on the weekends. They were young, recently graduated from high school, and the town they lived in provided little to do for people who were not yet of drinking age. However, the high desert hills of Arizona provided a myriad of ways to get away and get lost. There were back roads that would take you to other small mountain mining towns hundreds of miles away. Sarah and her friends loved this one particular camping spot by a creek with a fire pit in the center of pine trees, that seemed to form a circle. . . .
Don't Sell The Ring Just YetAlbert W. Caron, Jr. (c) Copyright 2025 by Albert W. Caron, Jr. |
 Photo by 21849078 on Pixabay. |
A simple gold band. Given with unconditional love on our wedding day. With a promise to care for one another in sickness and in health. Until death do us part. Little did we know then, that our vows spoken years ago, would be taken literally years later. . . .
My Wife Says That I Am The Master Of The First ImpressionMorf Morford (c) Copyright 2025 by Morf Morford |
 Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay |
It
is not a compliment.
One of the dimensions of marriage few of us consider is how much your partner reflects on one's identity, character and values.
My identity and character, apparently, at those memorable and irreplaceable "first" meetings, might be a little "too memorable". . . .
One of the dimensions of marriage few of us consider is how much your partner reflects on one's identity, character and values.
My identity and character, apparently, at those memorable and irreplaceable "first" meetings, might be a little "too memorable". . . .
Elsie and EdithMother and Daughter KangaroosDeidre Williams (c) Copyright 2025 by Deidre Williams |
 Watercolor (c) 2025 by Deidre Williams. |
"You've
got to be kidding me," I told myself, looking out through the
screen door. Two furry shapes tottered in the morning sunlight.
"Kangaroos? Here?"
I
took a step onto the wood porch, dew cold seeping through my naked
toes. "Hello there," I said softly, my own voice shaking
with thrill. The larger one, dark brown back, white stomach, lifted
her head and opened sleepy eyes to gaze at me. Her companion, a less
rich grey, glanced around behind her leg. . . .
My Encounter With A Red FoxPlamen Vasilev (c) Copyright 2025 by Plamen Vasilev |
 Photo by Mashin Rostislav at Wikimedia Commons. |
The
sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm
golden glow over the dense underbrush of the forest near my home.
It was early autumn, a time when the leaves turned from vibrant green to a patchwork of fiery reds and oranges, carpeting the ground in a soft, crunchy layer. I often found solace in these woods, a refuge where I could escape the chaos of daily life and immerse myself in nature's beauty.
On that particular evening, however, I was about to have an encounter that would stay etched in my memory for years to come. . . .
More...
Raccoon BabyErika MacNeil (c) Copyright 2025 by Erika MacNeil |
 Photo by Chief Trent at Wikimedia Commons. |
"Mom! The car door is open! They're inside! Quick!"
I blunder through layers of groggy sleep and manage to fumble open the tent zipper. Clawing my way out into the inky darkness lit only by a half moon, I stumble off the tarp, slick with pre-dawn dew.
I
can hear them foraging through the contents of my car, and my stomach
lurches as I picture the inevitable scene I'm about to enter, the
lingering stench of rotting food and animal scat emanating from the
driver's side of my ravaged SUV. . . .
HwangeRoger Funston (c) Copyright 2024 by Roger Funston |
 Photo by Per Arne Slotte at Wikimedia Commons.. |
The
radio crackles in a Zimbabwe language (Shona). Our driver and guide,
Mayeso says, "A cheetah had been spotted by another guide.
It's a ways from here. We'll have to drive quickly. Do
you want to go?" Hell yes. So we race through the Hwange
Forest Reserve on narrow dirt roads. . . .
More...
Obedience TrainingMarcia Chang Vogl (c) Copyright 2025 by Marcia Chang Vogl |
 Photo by Olga Andreyanova at Unsplash. |
I
was the proud owner of a golden retriever named Goldie. He
came
to us as a five-month-old puppy. As he grew into an adult
dog,
taking him for walks was a challenge. An eighty-five-pound
woman is no match for an eighty-five-pound golden retriever who
decides he wants to take her for a walk. It does not matter
which end of the leash you are on. . . .
What Is It With Squirrels?Deon Matzen (c) Copyright 2025 by Deon Matzen |
 Photo by Christine Matthews at Wikimedia Commons. |
Yes,
what is with them? This type of event happens almost daily around
the island where I live. I know that it isn’t limited to this
area because I have seen it elsewhere as well.
Why do squirrels and chipmunks decide to cross the street just when I am driving by? Why do they turn around and try to go back instead of just crossing? Why do they turn around several times before I almost run over them? I am always afraid to look in the rear view mirror for fear it is now lying broken, or worse yet, thrashing wounded in the street.
Why do squirrels and chipmunks decide to cross the street just when I am driving by? Why do they turn around and try to go back instead of just crossing? Why do they turn around several times before I almost run over them? I am always afraid to look in the rear view mirror for fear it is now lying broken, or worse yet, thrashing wounded in the street.
Are they like dogs that chase cars and bite at the tires? Are they trying to bite my car tires?
Excerpt
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 Photo courtesy of Stockcake. |
Great
Falls, Virginia, 1951-2000
Eleanor
Walcott reacted with predictable discomfort to any attempt to bring
nature into the house. Indoor plants were rare, though Eleanor tried
and failed many times to raise anemic little avocado trees on
windowsills and in tabletop pots.
It
figured,
therefore, that in Wyatt Walcott's lifetime the family owned
few pets. Typically, Eleanor and her daughter preferred cats and
would nuzzle and eventually lament a succession of them, one or two
at a time. The guys naturally leaned toward dogs (Wyatt's
paternal grandfather had raised purebred Scottish terriers), but the
women gently vetoed any suggestion to own one until 1962--by
then Charlotte had moved out and married--when a family friend's
gorgeous tan whippet bore a prizeworthy litter. . . .
To The Stranger At The Grocery Checkout Counter Who Showed Me Who I AmMorf Morford (c) Copyright 2025 by Morf Morford |
 Photo by Andrea Piacquadio at Pexels. |
At
72, I have met a lot of strangers--some friendly, some
menacing, and one or two that never emerged from sleep or maybe a
coma--but they were my travel, or everyday life companions for
a glistening moment or two. . . .
Among the Deer: Life in CanadaLexi Simpson Photos (c) 2025 by the author. (c) Copyright 2025 by Lexi Simpson |
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When I was seven years old my family made the move to a smaller, more rural town in western Canada.
Our house was settled right in front of a forest where people would frequently go walking or hiking, and the trails led deep into the woods and up to lookouts and other interesting areas.
Growing up here I've had quite a few encounters with wild animals. . . .
No Bad DaysMorf Morford (c) Copyright 2025 by Morf Morford |
 Photo by Andrea Piacquadio at Pexels. |
A
friend of mine had an adult daughter, about 25, who had been
diagnosed with breast cancer.
And
that, after her diagnosis, was her life philosophy - "No
Bad Days".
I'm
not the type to make proclamations or announcements like that.
The Bear At DuskA True Wilderness Encounter In New Brunswick Karen Pojasek (c) Copyright 2025 by Karen Pojasek |
 Photo by Mike Bender/U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service at Wikimedia Commons. |
The forest held its breath as we moved through the golden light of late afternoon, our boots whispering against the carpet of fallen leaves. I was seventeen that autumn, still new to the vast wilderness of New Brunswick, and every excursion with Michial, my host father, felt like stepping into another world. . . .
A Race Against ExtinctionRachel Ann Crafton (c) Copyright 2025 by Rachel Ann Crafton |
 Image by nickyduplessis28 from Pixabay |
Rainforests
stretched for miles. There were no deserts, there was only land
covered in masses of greenery, in thick fields of vegetation. Then
the cooling and drying came, vast tracts of lush life shrinking and
shrinking. On these plains, long-legged, speedy predators stalk their
prey. They race, a blur of gold and black, they jump with muscles
coiled, and they tear with claws outstretched. Survival has won for
them, and lost for their prey. . . .
Best In The WorldDevin Meireles (c) Copyright 2024 by Devin Meireles |
 Photo by Student News Agency at Wikimedia Commons. |
. . .An
extended family member begins the story. They tell a lot of stories,
such is an islander trait, but this one stands out from the others. I
listened closely as they told me about a time when the island was
inconspicuous. A little wonderland that was discreet for so long.
Distant from its mainland counterpart, and the rest of the world, it
was compelled to make its own way. That’s the island way. . . .
Mouse OverboardMarsha Porter (c) Copyright 2025 by Marsha Porter |
 Photo by Ralph at Pixabay. |
It
was a sunny summer morning with a gentle breeze to postpone our usual
100 degree heat. The beauty of my sparkling turquoise pool water vied
with that of the cloudless blue sky above. As I went about my weekly
pool shock treatment ritual, I was temporarily distracted by the
gentle hum of a large dragonfly zooming over my pool. . . .
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An Act Of Kindness
Dale Fehringer (c) Copyright 2025 by Dale Fehringer |
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This is a story about baseball and about Willie Mays, one of baseball's greatest center fielders. It's also about kindness and faith in your fellow humans. It's going to take a little while to get to that second part, so I ask for your patience. I'll get there. . . .
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Aftermath Dreams October 1, 1985
Sarah Byron
(c) Copyright 2025 byValerie Byron
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Why
do I allow myself to relive those times? The World War II years from
1939 to 1945 pale and are of no consequence compared to the
shattering of my illusions, the ruin of trust, the loss of the man I
idealized, his rejection, my despair. . . .
In The Mouse's HouseEudell Watts (c) Copyright 2025 by Eudell Watts |
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I was blessed to spend the first twenty years and more working alongside and with my father. He was a commercial waste hauler. He taught me how to work. He taught me how to treat other people. He taught me honesty. Most importantly he was one thing a lot of my friends growing up did not have. He was there for me. . . .
The Day A Sea Snake Spared MeCaroline Muiruri (c) Copyright 2024 by Caroline Muiruri |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I enjoyed living in the Gazi Bay town, at the South Coast of Mombasa. The Swahili dishes, rich culture and proximity to the sea filled me with joy each day. While staying there, I decided to make a habit of taking a stroll each evening, right at sunset. The air in that coastal village always carried the scent of salt and mangroves. I used to stroll through a familiar route that cut across some green labyrinth of white mangrove.
One particular afternoon, I decided to take a different path. . . .
More...
Ahmed's parting shot came soft-sounding, yet loud and raucous. "How can you break what is already broken?"--an adieu I held close to my heart. It niggled at my mind in a way that had me in my feelings, like the song Stranger by Simi, which I always played on repeat. As days crept into weeks, this adieu revealed itself to be the acme of memory. The last bastion of our star-crossed love. . . .
October 2024 had me battered, a husk clawing for air after a grueling year. Work was a merciless churn--emails piling up like unpaid bills, a boss who'd shred my reports for sport, and an emotional drift that left me unmoored, staring at walls when the laptop finally dimmed.
I was drowning, but I'd always been too stubborn to sink completely. Emily, my sister, knew it. . . .
Breaking ShardsSandra Uche Delumozie (c) Copyright 2025 by Sandra Uche Delumozie |
 Photo by Michael Gill at Wikimedia Commons. |
Ahmed's parting shot came soft-sounding, yet loud and raucous. "How can you break what is already broken?"--an adieu I held close to my heart. It niggled at my mind in a way that had me in my feelings, like the song Stranger by Simi, which I always played on repeat. As days crept into weeks, this adieu revealed itself to be the acme of memory. The last bastion of our star-crossed love. . . .
The Squirrel That Stole My LunchSubham Rai (c) Copyright 2025 by Subham Rai |
 Photo by Charles James Sharp at Wikimedia Commons. |
October 2024 had me battered, a husk clawing for air after a grueling year. Work was a merciless churn--emails piling up like unpaid bills, a boss who'd shred my reports for sport, and an emotional drift that left me unmoored, staring at walls when the laptop finally dimmed.
I was drowning, but I'd always been too stubborn to sink completely. Emily, my sister, knew it. . . .
| The
Future Is Predictable Ezra Azra (c) Copyright 2025 by Ezra Azra |
 Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
. . . .I have never had a cat as a pet. For the first twenty-nine years of my life I had never seen a domestic cat. And so when I was six years old a peripatetic part-time fortune-teller predicted that sometime in my future a cat would save my life, all my family members at that table having a tea-break were skeptically and dismissively amused. . . .
An Observation On Baby RabbitsLeaving The NestKelly Wionzek (c) Copyright 2024 by Kelly Wionzek |
 Photo of baby cottontail courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
Several days ago I had the privilege of stumbling upon a nest of baby cottontails. Although having fur, the ears were short and they were blind.
Leaving them be, only checking their progress occasionally, we verified that the mother was feeding them during the night by leaving twig patterns on the nest. Over the days, she seemed to leave the yard later and later in the morning until one day she did not leave at all. . . .
Letter To Vanessa
Sarah Byron (c) Copyright 2025 byValerie Byron |
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My
late mother, Sarah Byron, was born in the East End of London in
1911. Her stories and memoirs are colorful and richly
embroidered with detail that I find amazing that she recalled so late
in life. Below is a "letter" - but more of a memoir -
that she sent to my 13 year old daughter, Vanessa, in 1985. . . .
| When
The Gods Are Paying Attention Bheka Pierce (c) Copyright 2025 by Bheka Pierce |
 Image by beauty_of_nature from Pixabay |
Did
the driver of
the oncoming SUV, an elderly man whose forehead barely cleared the
steering wheel, see the little girl in her yellow dress and matching
hair ribbons? He was coming at speed, perhaps hoping to beat the
light a block beyond.
It was only by chance that I was here on the sidewalk in Copenhagen. Hard rain during the night had drowned my plan to mow the backyard. Instead, I cycled to the bank to get a hundred-dollar bill for each of my kids back in America. I'd tell them--as always--not to spend it all in one place. . . .
The Black DressLoukia Janavaras (c) Copyright 2025 by Loukia Janavaras |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
One
of my favorite photos from childhood is of my mom and me in Corinth,
Greece in the summer of 1971, the summer I turned two. She went back
to Ancient Corinth, her hometown to see her dying mother
my yiaya (grandma)
Vasiliki who was in her late 70s and took me along so I could meet
her for the first and last time. All the years I had seen this square
photo with its crisp white border tightly sealed inside an acrylic
photo cube, I never knew the secret it held. . . .
Guides In GardensLoukia Janavaras (c) Copyright 2025 by Loukia Janavaras |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
After dropping off my husband Andrew at his work headquarters, I decided to drive the rental car to Central Park and check out the Japanese Garden. This was our first trip to San Mateo, California so I wanted to explore and had the luxury to do so on my husband's work trip. I felt grateful for such an experience. . . .
Winter Days Of
Old
James L. Cowles (c)
Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles |
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A special time, one of a kind, a long, long time ago
A real tree, lights, tinsel bright, outside, the fluffy snow
Days of youth, the truest truth, with the world aglow
A real tree, lights, tinsel bright, outside, the fluffy snow
Days of youth, the truest truth, with the world aglow
Dear Mr. BluLoukia Janavaras (c) Copyright 2025 by Loukia Janavaras |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
How
is it possible that you've been gone seven months? Seven months
today, in fact. And every month on the anniversary I tell myself I am
going to write you a letter. But the muse has not been with me of
late. Well, that plus the little voice of reason in my head that
says, you aren't really going to write a letter to him, are
you? Come on, really?. . .
What's Happening?Bonnie Crandall (c) Copyright 2025 by Bonnie Crandall |
 Image by rony michaud from Pixabay |
What's happening? . . . Something weird. But what? . . . What do I do? . . . WHAT IS HAPPENING!
I had just returned home from leading a workshop and my PowerPoint overload was giving me a serious headache. So, I grabbed a bottle of over-the-counter pain meds and popped two into my mouth. A few minutes passed and I could feel the medication taking hold. But it wasn't what I expected! My eyes felt as like they were trying to push out of my head. My tongue was suddenly too big for my mouth. My throat was swelling, and breathing was becoming very stressful. I knew I was in trouble, but couldn't understand why! . . .
| We
Are Family Karen Radford Treanor
(c) Copyright 2025 by Karen Radford Treanor
|
 Photo of the house on Elm Street courtesy of the author. |
"Family"
is a fluid concept these days. Perhaps it always was, outside the
confines of the conservative media.
An
acquaintance recently became the father of an adorable and
much-wanted baby girl. The event should be an occasion of
congratulations and best wishes, and so it is, except for a sizeable
majority who don't think he deserved the chance to be a parent,
due to what they term his 'lifestyle' and 'ungodly
behaviour'. . . .