Most recently published stories in Humans.
A Final Surprise
It had been eight days since Kimberly’s mother died. It happened on a Wednesday; the funeral reception was held on Friday, and attracted a decent turnout. Kim didn’t remember much other than the fact that it had been a sunny day, which had somehow made it hard for her to cry. The harsh light only seemed to illuminate everything that needed to be done: greet the family, check that the charcuterie board hadn’t grown too tepid, comfort the occasional weepy relative, on and on until the moon had risen in the sky and the last of the lingerers finally slipped languidly into their cars. Only once the excitement had died and she was alone with her husband did she allow herself a moment to grieve. She’d been plagued by bad sleep since that awful day, and she could feel exhaustion setting in.
The Practice of Perfection
When I was younger, I would sit at the obnoxious grand piano in the middle of my living room every day. It pained me to play the scales and classical songs integral to my lessons. Every song was the same bland ascent of notes expected to be played at the same speed and volume - the practice of perfection. Instead, I would make the piano’s rich and elegant timbre thunk vigorously or groan at painfully slow speeds; belt piercingly high or grumble in thundering low octaves on the keys, completely forgetting the flavourless songs I had to practice. It was an exciting spit in the face of classical music. That was until I heard the low rumble of my father’s car ominously creep into the driveway. In those moments, I’d sneak away.
Creating calm - one detail at a time
There was, I think, a gap of about ten years between when my parents believed that I was old enough to sit through a church service and behave myself, and when I actually began to pay regular attention to what was going on and to think it had much to do with me and my life. Not that I never heard anything the preacher said during those years. I did hear many things and I even remembered some of them. I also enjoyed singing all the hymns, which might have been my favorite part of any church service. But when we settled back to listen to the sermon, I doodled on the margins of the church bulletin. I had begun drawing as soon as I could hold a crayon without eating it (or so I tell people) and drawing was one of my favorite activities.
"The Epitome of Generativity"
Integrating a socially awkward, severely traumatized, mentally-ill young woman, and her older cat, Nitty - with a passion for the arts ANYWHERE - especially from "The Heights" of Heaven into this Post-Pandemic World we ALL now find ourselves in - while crossing over the border, with the help of my family and friends from the South Suburban Chicagoland area into the Northwestern Indiana region - or Northeastern Indiana, in you prefer - I have to think FAST. But slow down and be aware.
A White Set of Cracker Jacks
When I was in the Navy in the Nineteen Eighties, McNamara had given the Navy business suits for uniforms. No style, just a nasty business suit. The Navy was unimpressed. They asked that some modern Cracker Jacks be made available. When the white uniform came out, I bought a set. I thought I looked hot in them. Little did I know the Officers had noticed me, and I would be sorry I bought them. I had the POW (Petty Officer of the Watch) when we pulled in to port. The Captian was OOD (Officer Of the Deck). I was not sure what to think.
When it All Comes Down
As with most stories that captivate the mind, there will not be some be lesson or moral to carry away from this; at least not in my mind. Instead perhaps you will be entertained for captivated for short time. Maybe your lunch break will pass a little faster. Or your mind will ponder these events as you lay down at night.
I Will Write
Surprise, surprise! A contest requests that I write about something I’m passionate about and I choose to write about writing. How original! However, it’s the truth. Whenever I manage to write something that flows and clearly conveys my ideas, I feel a release; like I was holding my breath for an extended period and I finally let it out.
The Day Art Came Home to Stay
It was in the third grade that my desire to create art was stifled. The class was in the midst of a hot and heavy spelling competition, and I was a good speller. The reward for missing a word was that you got to sit down at your desk and draw. When I misspelled a word on purpose in order to pursue my artistic designs, the teacher (who knew I was faking) chastised me and told me I should never, ever “cheat” in such a fashion.
A number of days ago, my sisters and I went on a hike on a nearby trail close to our house. It was a trek to get to the trail itself, but it was worth the extra walk. Once you step onto the trail, the forest feels as if it is luring you farther in. The feeling is similar to the way the ocean draws you in when you stand at the edge, the waves lapping at your ankles.
My First Time in the Navy
Every good Sea Story starts with this is a no-shitter, and this one is one of those. In Nineteen Seventy-Nine, I was a Nuke Power student. When I graduated from ET School in the Great Lakes, my class was not ready, so I got a transfer to the USS Vogelgesang, DD 862, before Nuke School in Orlando. I was green. I was more green than a freshly cut Pear Tree.
Those important words!
It was the morning of July 4th, 2016. It was a nice day in Toronto. Ranveer’s wife Amrita and son Tushar were sleeping as they wanted to do so during the weekend. Enjoying his coffee Ranveer went on to facebook to chat for a while. His childhood friend Sonali was online and she sent him a message to chat. He would start chatting in a few minutes.
Valentine's Day Gift Ideas for Your Girl
This valentine, you pulled out all the stops (as you thought, at least) and gifted your baby girl flowers and chocolate… again.