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  • Published
    January 29, 2011

    An image moment: One that grows from a sound

    “She’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes.” I hear the wind pressing the rain against the glass, and I shudder and push away the premonition of winter’s approach. “She’ll be wearin’ red pajamas when she comes….” (scratch, scratch) I hum softly to myself. And remember to send Liz the pajamas I bought for her birthday, but I won’t sing that song over the telephone when I call her next week, because …

  • Published
    December 23, 2010

    Major Chadwick

    This writing is to introduce you to Major Chadwick, once upon a time a neighbor of my daughter, Shannon, on Sea Street, here in Camden. Major retired from the U.S. Armed Forces and moved into a little second floor apartment right across the street from where Shannon and her husband lived. He was a friendly, loquacious, elderly man who entertained anyone he met with stories and lessons he had learned in his …

  • Published
    October 24, 2010

    King Allen

    It was bound to happen sooner or later. My dad bought that horse for me when I was 12. I figured that he just loved me that much, but I knew he also loved to flex his pride in front of his friends down at his office in town, and he was known to sometimes boast about the young horsewoman he believed his daughter would one day become, and the fact that he made it all happen! Fathers are like that, I guess. “That …

  • Published
    September 11, 2010

    One Step at a Time

    Please note: The following story contains images and actions that are not necessarily true to life, as I have lived it. All of it did, however, appear to me in a dream that I had several years ago, and I use it here to tell the story. It might otherwise have been a perfectly normal day. That being summer on our little island and all, except that we were the only family living there at the time and the only …

  • Published
    August 4, 2010

    A dandelion

    A dandelion in full seed, ready to let go and let God into the warmth and moisture of this glorious day. A hundred or more seeds to each bloom, all ripe, dry and ready to go, each one equipped with a tiny set of perfect wings and an inner knowing that will navigate the seed to its own wherever. Perhaps a spot of moisture will receive the little thing and invite it to embed its roots into the thick black soil …

  • Published
    July 7, 2010

    First funeral

    Oh my, the music in this place sounds so serious … ponderous, even … as it pushes out and away from the red velvety wall toward the other side of the room. The whole place smells of furniture wax and fresh flowers. All those folding chairs are set up in short, intimate rows, as if there were going to be a children’s play or something like a performance. Well, there won’t be much of a performance, I keep …

  • Published
    June 2, 2010

    Anna Hennen Jennings Carter, my father’s grandmother

    What follows is the story of Anna Hennen Jennings Carter, my father’s grandmother, as told to me by my aunt, Anne Proctor, who grew up spending summers at Undercliff with her large family. She was blessed with a strong and vivid memory, a colorful sense of humor and a devotion to detail. Her stories often began with a renewed introduction to the woman she called Great-grandmother Carter, and then followed her …

  • Published
    May 19, 2010

    Breakfast with Grandmama

    It was my turn to carry Grandmama’s breakfast tray up to her room.  And I knew I could do it, without spilling anything or dropping a dish or a cup on the back stairs. Lil had the tray all ready for me when I came back down to the kitchen after she sent me upstairs to wash my face and comb my hair – again.  The little teapot jiggled in its saucer when I took hold of the tray.  I could hear the spoon chattering …

  • Published
    April 7, 2010


    In the mid-night, dark and dreary, Came the rain storm, mad and teary, Came the rain storm, wet and lonely, Leaving me awake and only … Water pounding on the glass — Looking for a way to pass Into my room — Amid the muddle, Seeking to become a puddle. Now I know, but cannot see, That sun is breaking through to me, As dawn fills us with hope and wonder, Leaving behind the rain and thunder. Breathe deeply, so …

  • Published
    March 8, 2010

    One pig’s passing

    I should have known … my dad wrote it right on the calendar that hung on the wall beside the telephone in the kitchen: “Sam comes to slaughter hog — early.” But for some reason, I either didn’t notice it, or I forgot. I don’t know how. Mom cooked up a huge pot of oatmeal and stirred in a mess of cut-up apples and chunks of bread. She poured the whole pot of it into a bucket and told me to go out and feed the …

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