Mack D. Ames
Bio
Tongue-in-cheek humor. Educator & hobbyist writer in Maine, USA. Mid50s. Emotional. Forgiven. Thankful. One wife, 2 adult sons, 1 dog. Novel: Lost My Way in the Darkness: Jack's Journey. https://a.co/d/6UE59OY. Not pen name Bill M, partly.
Stories (71)
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Concussed
March 8th, 2025. A day that dogs my steps with cloudy thoughts, painful pauses, and glitchy memories. Mike was on his own, so Chris and I finished cleaning the church for Mom before driving to Nate's house. Spring was "just around the corner," but it could be a thousand corners away, for all we knew. Maine is not a state that welcomes spring early. The arrival of my favorite season comes as slowly as molasses running uphill in January.
By Mack D. Ames10 months ago in Men
Breaking the Depression Through the Lens
In the early 1980s, my brother graduated from high school and spent a year working for a local moving company while deciding what to do with his life. Our mother insisted that he attend a Christian college, so he looked for a school that would allow him to play baseball, and he eventually settled on Covenant College because our middle sister had discovered it and recommended it to him. Covenant is located on Lookout Mountain, Georgia, just across the state line from Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, where the famous Rock City can be found.
By Mack D. Ames12 months ago in Photography
Two Fat Guys in a Boat
The Hunter Shannon was taking on water, and we were two miles from shore. I thought we were goners. Dad was never one to pay attention to details. He and his friend Calvin were drunk or high most of the time. Well, Dad was always drunk. Cal was usually high. It was funny sometimes, but usually it was sad. Dad had me selling coke and cooking meth by the time I was ten years old. The day that the Hunter Shannon sank around us, I was fifteen, and it was the first legit fishing job we'd been hired for in six months. I reminded Dad about the hole in the hold, but he ignored me and set sail for the fishing grounds anyway. "Just put a cork in the hole, boy," he said, which I did, dubious of the solution to be effective on the ocean waves we would encounter.
By Mack D. Ames12 months ago in Fiction
"Ode" to the Eff Word
The single greatest change I encountered when leaving private and public school teaching for correctional facility instruction was the dramatically increased use of the F word all around me. Now, professionally speaking, my fellow employees and I are expected to avoid using such language, but human nature being what it is and the overall prison culture being what it is, the F, or as I call it, "Eff," word is difficult to avoid hearing or saying.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Education
Omni
In the 1970s, Dad bought a Chevy Suburban and a Dodge Van. After a time, he determined that we could only keep one of them. Now, the benefit of the Van was that it was reliable. The drawbacks were that there weren't enough seats for the whole family (we used folding chairs in the back sometimes), and the engine was in the front, so the rear-wheel drive had horrible traction in our snowy winters. On the other hand, the Suburban was a weighty vehicle that handled the snow well, and it easily seated everyone. The downside to it was its unreliability and its sticky gearshift. It was also a year or two newer than the van at the time of Dad's decision, and it was apparently the determining factor.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Wheel
Orange you glad?
St. Patrick's Day held an inside joke for the two of us. We're Protestant, so we always wore orange instead of green. When the pinchers came for us, we double-pinched back, laughing as we told them how they'd been punked. Well, that's the word we'd use today, but not one she'd ever use. She was too proper for that. She would smile with a twinkle in her eyes, and I'd be the one laughing. Thirty-seven years have passed since I thought of Saint Patrick's Day without sadness; 2025 might be different.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Motivation
It's a good thing, ain't it?
You'd think that the brilliance of a sugar maple leaf in autumn would shatter all doubts about the quality of the season, right? Just look at this tree! I took this photo about seven years ago on my way home from work. I knew it was close to the end of the leaf-peeping season, so I purposefully took a route that would lead me past this particular beauty. I pulled into the weeds on the side of the road, climbed out of my 2004 Civic, and proceeded to snap some photographs with my ancient Samsung cell phone.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Psyche
E-I-E-I-O
In 1965, my dad and mom bought the farm. Not in the euphemistic sense of dying, mind you, but in the literal meaning of purchasing a modest farm and large house halfway between Dad's work and the church they had joined when they moved to Maine. I was yet several years from existence at the time, but when I arrived I had the distinct pleasure of spending eighteen years on the farm. Not all of it was fun and games, though. No sir (or ma'am). There was wood to cut and stack for the winter, and there was hay to mow, rake, bale, and haul up to sell. We didn't have animals of our own besides the occasional flock of chickens (and the one year we ended up with roosters by mistake--weren't they a mean bunch!), but Dad owned enough acreage to put in 2,500 bales or more every summer and sold the crop to whoever wanted it. He got good prices for his quality feed, and the profit he made paid our tuition to a Christian school.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Humans
Pushed Out
NOTE: The following is a rant that swings between calm facts and intense emotions. Dear Boss, I know there’ve been several occasions when I’ve told you about my depression and anxiety issues and specifically how they affect me at work. I’ve particularly expressed the need to have office space away from the classroom where I can control the light and noise exposure to reduce the sensory input, which is why I’ve been so glad to have an office for the last several years. Your predecessor comprehended that and fiercely defended my right to keep an office. He had my back on that. You threw me under the bus and tossed me out of the office space.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Psyche
