A writer of words in northern WI with a small family and a large menagerie.
- Top Story - August 2023
Dear Uncle Kent - I wish I had been able to see you and discuss my appreciation for you before you passed, but it didn't happen. I intended for things to go differently within the family - I guess we all fall victim to our intentions. So here I am, regardless of my intention, addressing this letter to you, in honor of our relationship, sadly, after your death. It seems ironic that it is commonplace to speak of the wonderful attributes a person carried with them throughout life, only to be noted after their death. Why is that? Why do we withhold the sharing of our love until after death, when the impacts of those truths upon the deceased are of no value to them anymore?
In the Name of Friendship
Me and Sabrina got to be best friends when she moved here in the fifth grade. Now we were starting eighth grade after summer. She had a little brother named Peter who had some behavioral (that’s what Sabrina calls it) issues due to some troubles when he was born. He was a couple of years younger than us, but he was big and kinda mean. That was the summer we found the kitten, though.
Don't Spill Wine on Your Computer Ports
Don’t Spill Wine on Your Computer Ports A cautionary tale. The possibility of spillage is one reason why I usually put my laptop away when indulging in a glass of wine (along with the usually poor decision to answer messages and comments while under the influence is another fine reason, but I digress.)
The Good Stray
*** Based on a true story*** The Good Stray I saved the orange and white tabby that came slinking to my door. His sad, scrawny form with the abscess on his side begged for food. I gave him some raw meat I had thawing for dinner, and decided if he made it through the weekend, he would be officially ours and we would take him to the vet to have him neutered, vaccinated and treated as needed to get him back to healthy. Even if he ran off afterwards, at least he wouldn’t be creating more kittens or spreading sickness.
Always A Writer
As long as I can remember, I’ve been writing stories, but one of the first that I remember, was for our daily journal writing assignment in fifth grade. It was around Thanksgiving and I wrote about a turkey hiding as a rock so he wouldn’t be eaten. I didn’t have time to finish the story, as was par for the course for me. I wrote a lot of unfinished stories. Still do. But my teacher loved it. She encouraged me to finish it, and even pointed out my writing affinity to my parents. They didn't seem so impressed.