Karen Haueisen
Bio
Living proof that poop washes off and a little whiskey on the gums won't kill a kid.
Purveyor of needless wisdom and fearless commentator on the human condition. If I've lived it, I'll talk about it.
Stories (6/0)
American Passport
When I was very young, my mother told me to stick to my passport. She said an American passport was one of the most valuable assets I would ever own. At that young age, my sheltered life would be challenged by news of the Libyan hostage crisis and the Iran Contra affair. Germans brought down the wall in Berlin. Russia was still an enemy memorialized in a Sting song I recorded off the radio. If the Russians love their children too, he sang, we just might avoid a nuclear war. These were the current events of my childhood.
By Karen Haueisen2 years ago in Humans
Heartbeat
I hear the grandfather clock ticking louder and louder from the front hall, even standing outside on the porch. Or was it simply ticking slower and slower? That clock had been the heartbeat of our home as long as I could remember. It seems only appropriate it would wind down slowly, today of all days. I knew today was the day it would stop.
By Karen Haueisen3 years ago in Fiction
In Stitches
I can’t remember the day I first became aware my mom wasn’t like other moms in the 1970’s. That is to say, she didn’t make lots of Rice Krispie treats. She didn’t host neighborhood parties. She didn’t sip grown up iced tea out back with her friends, or run a book club, or gossip, or indulge my every whim.
By Karen Haueisen3 years ago in Families
Thank God For You
Dear Carol, I spent the weekend after Christmas this year fixing ornaments that I’d been putting back in the box without hanging them up for over a decade now, and I came across two that actually belong to you. I sat here with superglue fixing little elf ears and angel wings, knowing your Christmases must have somehow been a little less bright since we both moved away from home and I took these instead of you. Which of course started me thinking down a long and winding road of all the places we’ve been in the 47 years you’ve had the distinct honor of being my sister.
By Karen Haueisen3 years ago in Families
I'm Here For My Reward
He stuck his head out of the alley, swung it side to side, checking for any lookie-loos. Assured they were alone, he went back to the body and searched through the pockets of the dead man’s trench coat. When he came up with a little black notebook, he flipped through the pages with a great deal of curiosity. Searching the man’s suit jacket, he found the wallet and badge that confirmed the identity: Detective Henry Rhodes, Homicide. Pocketing the book, but leaving the badge and the wallet behind, he exited the alley and turned left, barely taking notice of the worn notice tacked to the fence guarding its entrance:
By Karen Haueisen3 years ago in Criminal
