Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
My Father's House
Ambivalence embraces me as I fumble around the attic of a strange house that is now mine. I engage a necessary task. I feel nothing. A thin, black moleskine is cold in my hand; it’s worn cover cracked from years that are lost to me. Left in the corner of my father’s attic, under a stack of The Sunday Times, it valiantly endured the seasons for perhaps a decade or more. The words “First Guaranty Bank: Carthage, Tennessee” fading from its cover, it is shrouded among cobwebs and dust bunnies, biding its time until this moment of revelation. Perhaps a forgotten piece of marketing tchotchke taking up residence with the other misfits in this attic? Misfits, like me.
By Rick Adventure 5 years ago in Families
Diggin' in the Dirt
So Uncle Jack was dead. Finally. Here we were, scrimping to make ends meet, and he takes years to drop off his perch. Years of crippling mortgages and groaning credit card bills. Jack was loaded, but he never gave us a dime. Nada, rien, nix. He went to live in that cabin in the woods, to chop wood, write and sketch and walk that dumb dog. Hemingway. I mean seriously, who calls their dog Hemingway?
By Clare Blanchard5 years ago in Families
Happy Endings
Lily was sitting in the conservatory with her morning coffee. She had bagels with cream cheese her, favourite. It was her weekend off. She like nothing better than to sit with her feet up, with her puzzle books. Sun was shining in the conservatory. It was lovely and warm. She was unwinding. she had been very successful in the last six months, with her books accumulating prize Money of $20,000, hard to believe. Her cell phone rang. She picked up the phone and smiled when she saw the caller. Liam.
By Kathleen Merry5 years ago in Families
Spirit Knows
Sometimes, Spirit moves us in ways that seem so insignificant but can be quite meaningful to others. The day dawned a good day for a softball game. Sunshine and clear skies invited the players, including my granddaughters, to their game. My son was the team coach so I had double interest in attending these games. My son played in the Little League as a child. He developed a love for ballgames. He had determined that when his twin daughters were old enough, he made certain they could play softball if they wanted.
By Toni Compton5 years ago in Families
Passion for the sport
As she approached her apartment a man, tall and slender, was knocking on her door. The man cleared his throat, “I have a package…. that needs your signature.” Madie was caught off guard. She just stares for a moment. Slowly, she shifted her bookbag to the other shoulder and signed on the line. The Delivery driver said,” Thank you” and turned to his truck.
By Celena Sims5 years ago in Families
The Worst Campouts
Even though I’m thinking back 30 years or more, the ones that come to mind the quickest are always the worst ones. It’s a lot harder to dredge up the sunny-day-swim-in-the-pond campouts than it is to fend off the memories of rain and bugs and cold and heat. Maybe that’s because we catalog the victories in a bigger drawer than the ordinary times.
By William Altmann5 years ago in Families
Old Soft Bristles
The first few days were weird. I hadn’t realized how introverted I had become, how much time I had spent at the nursing home with grandma. I stayed in bed until eleven. There was no need to get a job, not for a long time. I did nothing but sit in the sun. Around two, I went to a coffee shop up the street from my apartment, had a rose and cardamom latte and a bowl of granola totaling $23.45. I figured I could spend that kind of money on granola now. It was nothing to the new bank account, but never having more than three thousand to my name after years of working, it still felt like a sin. I drew a swirl of lines and scratches along the page of my sketchbook. I drew the static-like dots I see when I look up at the sky. I drew these things, because I didn’t know what else to do. In elementary school, I would make frequent visits to the underpaid counselor and would annoy her with things like, “I just don’t know what to draw.” My tubes of paint sat in their drawers. My brushes in their cups. I didn’t want to do anything except sit there. It wasn’t until day four, that I decided to open my grandma’s little black book.
By Nick Blocha5 years ago in Families
