Sandra Alexander
Bio
Sandra has self- published several non fiction titles. She holds a Bachelor's degree in Literary Journalism and a Master's Degree in Spiritual Counseling. Sandra currently resides in Westport, Connecticut.
Stories (18)
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From Beneath the Olive Tree
It was from beneath the olive tree that I found respite. It provided a shaded haven that offered me a special sort of peace. Peace was particularly hard to find during this time of my life. Joy and wonder were a different matter. I had plenty of both. The olive tree stood alone and drank from the banks of a narrow river. And the river ran through the sands of Israel. It was 1838. I was 16 years old.
By Sandra Alexander 2 years ago in Humans
Never Alone
The drive from my little apartment in North Miami to the University of Miami Hospital was one I looked forward to every week. When you follow the oceanside route, AIA, the commute takes twice as long than simply hopping on the freeway. Yet the extra time was always worth it for me. The salt thick air mixed the mouth-watering scents of bacon and eggs and fried potatoes. Well, you just don’t pass on that unless you just have to. I gave up bacon a while back but never agreed to stop inhaling the stuff. A quick stop along the way to pick up a Cuban coffee to go set up the perfect drive that morning. It was 2013. A time in my life when being on my own left me unsure and floundering and feeling very alone. But these lovely drives helped. So did the scent of the ocean. And so did my work.
By Sandra Alexander 3 years ago in Humans
A Letter to the Children
Twenty-five years ago, when I eagerly embraced the idea of becoming a mentor, I looked forward to sharing what I had learned from my own life experience with children and youth. I looked forward to guiding them, one by one, to a brighter future. I think most mentors go into this work wanting to make a difference somehow. But it didn’t take long for me to discover that I would be the one to reap the greatest benefits within the mentor/mentee relationship.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Humans
Fierce and Free
I sat there on the warped wooden steps of the country store. Sitting was all I was allowed to do. People came and went. My family clung as closely as possible to our wagon in a desperate sort of way. My mother and two little sisters waited there as my father made his regular store delivery. He wasn’t permitted to enter the store.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Fiction
Madge's Sweet Shoppe
Maria hated to look both ways. But she did look, not because she was intimidated by the cars, trucks and trolleys that buzzed down Baker Street in a morning rush. But because Maria was a rule follower. It was the rule to look both ways. A law, really, as well-behaved, 10-year-old Maria might see it. It was that important. So, Maria looked. And then, she waited, until almost forever, as the sweeping traffic cleared a path from the bus stop to the ornate front door of Madge’s Sweet Shoppe. Maria was lured across Baker Street, enticed by wondrous imaginings of sweet, gooey treats. She clung tight to three small coins, now sticky and wet in her palm. The gold heart-shaped locket that had once belonged to her mum, her gran, and her great-gran before that, bounced against her chest as she ran. Wearing the family treasure over her heart always made Maria happy. It was 8:10 a.m.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Fiction
From Behind the Mask
The drive from my little apartment in North Miami to my University of Miami education gig was one I looked forward to once a week. I would always take the longer route, oceanside. I could have saved time by just hopping on the freeway. Yet the extra 30 minutes or so was always worth the investment for me. Air thick with salt combined with mouth-watering scents of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. A quick stop along the way to pick up a Cuban coffee to go, the perfect kick off to the upcoming day.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Fiction
The Undecided
In that split second of no return, most of us decide. Whether the body succumbs to a short or long illness, or a sudden accidental fall, we take the leap. We choose. We have had enough. We move with intention, from life to death, leaving the body behind. We move toward whatever we have imagined our next life might offer. Most of us. Those who decide.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Horror
From Beneath the Olive Tree
It was from beneath the olive tree that I found respite. That ancient tree provided a shaded haven, offering me a special sort of peace. The olive tree stood in the partial shade of two abundant pair trees, all drinking from the banks of a narrow river. Their fruit, a combination of pears and olives, ripe and unripe, dropped to the ground—a feast for blackbirds and Persian Fallow Deer. And the river ran through the sands of Israel. It was 1838. I was 16 years old.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Humans
Anna's Story
Anna sat at the bar, swiveling rhythmically while she waited for the drink that she knew would soothe her throat and her spirit. Both were in deep need of soothing. It was out of character for her to be seen in this sort of establishment. A dark dive that smelled of hops and must and sweaty patrons long gone. But the drive to nowhere in particular had become too long and the scenery repetitive. So, when this place had beckoned, she relented. That was her way. Anything that called to her, be it be man, a mountain trail, or the sea, she was likely to follow. Like the call of wolf to her mate. Like the dove.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Fiction
