The phone rang twice before the melody of my aunt’s soft, joyful voice brought a hint of relief to my ear. “Grand Central Station,” she answered, her words teasing a smile to the corners of my trembling lips.
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It was late Sunday afternoon and the realtor asked if she could show us one last house. My husband, Ron, and I were tired, but decided to give it a shot.
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When I sat down at the computer this morning, I remembered my college days, tap-tapping out reports on my old Smith Corona typewriter. And then I envisioned the maple desk it sat on. I hadn’t thought of that desk in years.
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I had made up my mind that I was through with love. In accepting the relocation package that my job offered, I was determined to move on; to put the past behind me and live peacefully, happily and alone. This was a promise to myself that I intended to keep.
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© 2009 Leiah Bowden My husband, Lee, and I raised our Seth in “the Stockade,” the nation’s first designated Historic District. Folks had been living in Schenectady, New York since the 1600’s, but when we lived there the neighborhood was at the peak of its local fame as an artsy corner of the post-industrial town, otherwise...
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Perhaps we all believe that our children should grow up to be "perfect"... to go to college, get married, have children, be successful… and from such we will reap great joy. I certainly believed that.
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I was already a movie buff by the time I was five. On Saturdays my family would drive the fifty miles over rocky, barely passable Wyoming roads from Grass Creek to Thermopolis to see whichever motion picture Hollywood had sent to the single theatre
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For a full twenty minutes I begged my older sister to trade bunks with me for one measly night. I just had to know the thrill of sleeping in the top bunk bed or die of disappointment. Life is just that dramatic when you’re eight years old.
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By MERRILL MARKOE Here’s Something New to Feel Good About Today! Once upon a time, in a town called North Hollywood, there was a 95-pound black dog named Lewis who lived with a woman who only fed him twice a day. Ever since an evil veterinarian cast a spell to make her think he needed to lose a few pounds, the poor dog...
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I was the nurse assigned to Rose that evening shift in the Coronary Care Unit. Three days prior, she had suffered a heart attack. As I made my rounds and introduced myself, her petite body seemed frail and nearly invisible beneath the white-weave blanket. Though of the age where women color their hair blue-gray and wear it in tight pin curls, Rose wore her short, wavy white hair in a soft, carefree style. Her complexion was nearly wrinkle-free. Although her skin was pale and she seemed tired, her blue eyes sparkled. Progressing through my patient assessment, I noted the hint of pink returning to her face, revealing a glimpse of this vibrant, full-of-life woman.
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