Category: Nonfiction

Them People

Them People By Carole Harris Barton I saw her on the street when I entered the coffee shop. Waiting for my drink, I silently hoped the homeless woman would be gone when I left. She wasn’t. She’s going to hit me up for a handout, I just know it. “Hey, lady,” said the pale sixtyish woman, her thin face deeply furrowed. “Which way you goin’? I need a lift downtown.” “Sorry,” I replied, hoping my relief wasn’t obvious. “I’m not going that way.” “But you could, couldn’t you?” Her eyes were clear and steady. The truth in her question...

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Say YES To YOU By Saying NO To FEAR

Say YES To YOU By Saying NO To FEAR For the past year or so I’ve been doing a lot of work on myself re “fear”. I’ve been delving into  “A Course In Miracles” (even facilitated a group that studied it)  and practicing the very useful ideas presented in David Friedman’s “Thought Exchange”.  This work helped me see Fear in a different light. I am learning that Fear is useless. This  led me to begin my quest to handle fear and not let it handle me! I discovered that I’d been taught to be afraid of things when I...

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We Were Nine

By Brianna Blacklock 111 Sherwood Circle, Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota. I forget the zip. I can get there without it. × “You know drinking milk makes your boobs grow big,” Heleina said, her pasty legs dangling from the tree branch we always climbed in our neighbor’s side yard. I looked over. She bore more skin than I ever dreamed of. Her tank top dipped just enough to show the hint of a crevice, one I was unfamiliar with. I hadn’t thought about my chest before. We were only nine. I hated milk. I hated the thickness that covered my tongue and coated the roof of my mouth. The feeling always reminded me of chicken fat, the yellow kind that’s always floating around the surface of open cans of chicken noodle soup. I drank it anyway. I wanted boobs. × Heleina banged on my front door. I stepped out onto the porch, the concrete cool on my bare feet. “You’ve gotta come with me,” she said, her eyes wide and urgent behind fiery orange bangs. I must have looked hesitant. “Just come on, I’ve gotta show you somethin.” She led me to the side yard, our hangout. There was a huge bush that grew against the siding of the house next to the oak tree everyone always climbed. It made for a perfect hideout, except everyone hid there,...

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By Janet Richards A sauerbraten roast simmers on the stove and the pungent smell of red cabbage and spatzel permeates the air. My Austrian grandma, Mitzel, is up to her elbows in cucumbers and sour cream as she churns the mixture with her hands in a shallow plastic bowl.  Her stocky frame fits a child-sized chair at the kitchen table. Her puffy feet are crammed into chunky heeled black shoes, and the vest- like apron she always wears is soiled and worn. Her false teeth click as she moves her mouth with satisfaction. She is in her element. The kitchen sink overflows with soiled dishes and the rest of the house is as unkempt as Mitzel’s sparse hair, which falls in long strings on her forehead as she cooks. Her eyes twinkle and she seems barely able to contain her joy as I bring a spoon of her pickled fish to my lips. The food is silken perfection –glorious, and I know that she lives to create it.  It doesn’t disappoint. As a child I could always find my Grandmother. She sat like a garden gnome,  perched in the same pale green wooden chair at a Formica table in her tiny kitchen in Queens, New York. I picture her there, dicing celery, peeling parsnips and rutabagas, listening to Mitch Miller on the hi-fi, and swigging Budweiser from an amber...

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Untitled: Grace Dudley

By Grace Dudley Well, here I am yet again… Sitting , pondering, hoping for answers. So many questions. Not enough answers. Why do these thoughts run through my head? Why can’t I make sense out of life?  Out of why people come into my life, and leave without a sound? Why does God allow such things? Hurt, pain , suffering, Anxiety, worry… Where is God in all this? I been told many times God allows these things because without them how would we be thankful for the good… well , I can understand that, but why so much pain? What did I ever do so wrong to deserve so much heartache? Where is love in this world? Why so much hurt? What does a person have to do anymore to have even a little peace? Why can’t I find someone who loves me? Why do I care about people so much? Do I truly only hurt myself by being me? Who else could I be? In Reading about Job and having been compared to him myself..Like Job I have cursed the day I was born. I felt like nothing mattered. I have hope still ,despite all the pain. I lost my family, many friends. There are few that have stuck beside me when my life was falling apart. I try to rebuild, just to be set back again.  Each...

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Creating Your Path: Accepting Your Destiny

By Paula Pitts On January 7th, I turned my moving van into the rental company at the end of a warm day, went to eat at a local place here in Georgetown, and picked my daughter up from our new neighbors.  Heading out to Pawley’s there I had some peace and sense of wanting to be where I was at in that very moment that I had not had in some years.  I was happy.  Something I had not felt in my bones for far too long.  To Otter Run Road, we traveled and a warm greeting met us at my sister Tracy’s home.  Naomi and Caleb, my daughter and son, were tired but excited to finally have the move over and thinking of the new life we would have here in this coastal town, that I had fallen in love with back in 86.  I had come here then to help a priest who had been transferred here to open up Precious Blood in Pawley’s, and of course that came with the instructions of my friend that I would my spirit connected with God and find my path.  I vowed then that one day I would return to Pawleys and live.  And here I was some 26 years later; I was calling this beautiful place home.  But, here we were, my sister and myself together on the coast...

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