immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
My Little Black Book Contains Family Secrets and Scandals
My parents divorced each other, but they remarried. My father was married three times. My mother was married three times. Therefore, I have many siblings. There are more of us than the Kardashians and Braxton siblings. I often think being part of a big family is a blessing and a curse.
By Margaret Minnicks5 years ago in Families
I won the lottery once
I've been though some unbelievable events in life so what do you want to hear about first? At 14 I lost my grandfather to lung cancer. He was my best friend and the loss sent me into a downward spiral. A few months later, I was drinking and hanging out with older teens. I became kind of popular due to my party girl reputation.
By CP Rosekrans5 years ago in Families
Mommy Book
"I’m sure I left it on the counter. Someone is always moving my things." Ron could not be bothered by this. Every day his wife suggests the children have moved her keys, taken her hairbrush and the housekeeper put her towel in the wrong bathroom or moved an important piece of mail. For someone as organized and productive as Molly attempted to be, she was always frazzled or frantically looking for something.
By Michael Everts5 years ago in Families
Family Legacy
There I was, sitting on the front pew and all I could think about was the last words she whispered to me in my ear at the hospital. She had been sick a long time, she was tired, the chemo had just about worn her completely down and I was glad she was no longer in pain. As I glanced at all the flowers, the beautiful arrangements clustered about the church, I couldn’t help but think she would have loved them all, especially the beautiful white roses. Those were her favorite and those were the last bunch I brought to her in the hospital. Then my mind went to the room. Her voice was weak and low but I remembered she summoned me to put my ear to her mouth. She whispered these words in my ear, “Look under the sewing kit in the Hope chest. I’ve had it for years and I want you to take possession of it now. It was given to me by my mother and I was saving it for you.” I couldn’t help but remember how her hand grabbed mine and although very frail and weak, she clutched my hand like she knew it was the last time she would. So many things, so many memories flooded my mind while I sat there, I never heard the Director ask the family to stand. It was hard to keep the tears at bay, but as I followed the casket out of the church and to the hearse, I knew it was my turn to say goodbye.
By Tara Williams5 years ago in Families
The Recipes of Madame Powell
With both hands, Matthew Powell cradled a cheap water-glass full of a half-bottle of washington merlot, and stared at the red brick fireplace in his late father’s living room. Rarely could he enjoy sitting in the renovated living space of the victorian home, and now he would have to decide if he wanted to keep the property for himself, a prospect that daunted him. His father Jacob bought the house when Matthew’s mother had passed four years prior, and a change of scenery was necessary to adapt to life in Pine Grove without her. “Always go back to the source, that’s what your mother would say. This house,” Jacob described to his son, “Is also known as ‘Powell Place’ to the local historians.”
By Todd Montgomery5 years ago in Families
You Just Never Know
I stood in the shower, water running down my back, my heart pounding. I could faint at any moment. Thoughts were running through my head, trying to process the events from today. It was just too much. One more surprise and my heart would give out.
By Larissa Fielder5 years ago in Families
A Book for Remembering
I slammed on the brakes and the 1964 Plymouth came to a screeching halt. The summer night was clear and warm and in the sudden stillness the desert around me seemed to stretch on endlessly. Tears were still streaming from my face. I could feel them burning on my flushed cheeks, eroding away my skin and dripping freely from my chin onto my shirt but I didn't care. I hardly even noticed them to be honest because in that moment when I should have been feeling distraught and heart broken I felt nothing and that was somehow worse. I looked over at the duffle bag that sat innocently on the passenger side seat, the duffle bag that was filled to the brim with cash, the duffle bag that occupied a space that would never be filled with my son ever again. At the thought of my son, my sweet round faced son who would never sit in that seat, never eat cheese pizza in that seat, never listen to Blink 182 and try to sing like Tom DeLonge ever again. These thoughts seemed to scream over and over again in my mind and perhaps it was the stillness of the desert night that so contrasted the heaving sea of anguish that radiated throughout my entire being or perhaps it was seeing the bag that had replaced my own flesh and blood in the passenger seat but the numbness inside of me shattered. I began to scream and beat my hands against the steering wheel of the old Plymouth. I could hear myself screaming to God asking him over and over again to forgive me for getting my precious boy mixed up in all this. I knew that he would not.
By Hayden Buhler5 years ago in Families
The Cottage
The Cottage By: Rebecca Redd The old grandfather clock ticked away in the corner of the parlor. Through the glass window pane, she saw large, soft snowflakes whirl around frantically giving the early signs of a snow storm. A fire was lit in the weathered-brick fireplace; it crackled softly, the occasional ember leaping from the fire becoming white ash. She sat there, in the antique, over- stuffed, arm chair sipping her tea. This was her first night in the cottage alone. The cottage was her inheritance from her favorite Uncle Thomas. After 12 years of seeing his face on the missing persons posters and plastered on every police website, Uncle Thomas was declared dead. The little cottage was half a mile outside of a small town, down a bumpy, dirt road, and set deep in the forest. Upon her arrival, she met the groundskeeper, Mr. Jones, who gave her the house keys. He maintained the grounds for years and gave her a quick tour before driving off into the snowy evening. The cottage had two moderate sized bedrooms, a large kitchen, a parlor room, and two bathrooms. It was perfect. The walls of the parlor were covered by large, oak book cases and each case was meticulously lined with old novels and works of great poets. As she gazed around the room, something caught her eye on fireplace mantel. A small, glass globe sat alone, slightly shadowed by a large oil painting. She set her cup of tea on the end table, slipped her feet into her slippers and tightened her sweater around her body. She stood up and walked toward the oil painting to get a better look. The painting was masterfully crafted; the strokes of paint were raised, creating a unique texture with beautiful autumn colours. As she admired the work of art, she wondered why she inherited this coveted cottage. Just before she headed out for the cottage, her family begrudgingly wished her a good trip, the image of their sour, jealous expressions lingered in her mind. She had recently chosen to go back to school to further her education. The University was located 20 minutes outside the little town near the cottage. For her, the timing of the inheritance and her first semester worked out wonderfully.
By Rebecca Redd5 years ago in Families
Just The Six of Us
Jewel walked up the short path to the old family home in Durham, NC she had recently bought. Her parents owned the home in the early ‘60s and she, just like the rest of her brothers and sisters, had been born there. Two stories and four bedrooms, dad had sold the home for a fraction of what it was worth because he thought the house and store combo a few blocks away would lead to easy money. But he and mom weren’t that business savvy and even those were sold.
By Andrew Rhodes5 years ago in Families
I'm an Old Goat
Ever since I was a child, I have been old. I remember always helping with my younger siblings and helping my mom clean up and wanting to learn more such as how to wash clothes with the old wringer washer (I don't think that is your average child's interests, but it was one of mine). The skills I learned served me well when my dad died at my young age of fourteen years old. The old Capricorn was built for this type of a tragic turn of events.
By Yvette McDermott5 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
