grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
Stories From My Grandmother
My Grandmother was born when the cotton was being harvested, during War World II, on September 25, 1942. She was the second youngest child of 13 , children of sharecroppers. Her parents were also children of sharecroppers. These are some of her memories of her childhood.
By Shalasha Deese5 years ago in Families
No One Said Dreams Were Cheap
My first memory of my grandfather is a ridiculous one. He was upset I had left the water running in the front lawn all day. You may think “Wait a minute, but isn’t water on lawns a good thing?” Which for the record, you are correct. But a bored four year old on a hot summer day could care less about lawn care and more about making a river system within it, full of deep canals and currents strong enough to carry my marbles and army men downstream.
By Vanessa Keck5 years ago in Families
The Little Black Book
This morning I was woken by a phone call from an estate lawyer in Calgary. He called to notify me that my Grandmother had passed away in her sleep peacefully the night before last. He also informed me that she had named me to be the executor of her estate.
By Angela Pauline5 years ago in Families
Little Bird
The morning began with the angry cry of the alarm clock, wrenching her from a deep slumber, then the abrupt weight of her dog clambering over her, claws digging into her ribcage, as she characteristically pounced on her chest, which knocked any residual grogginess out of her: it was 5:00 A.M. She let her pup outside to disturb the pre-dawn stillness—white fur flashing against the darkness, nose to the ground, searching for any comers in the night—while she scraped together their breakfasts.
By Jerica Stark5 years ago in Families
Kiki's Last Game
The package arrived on Thursday. Not just any Thursday, but the Thursday after the storming of the Capitol. Meaning it was when too many COVID hours spent with my significant other, Jack, boiled over and our differences became, to me at least, irreconcilable. We’d made it through the election, but the QAnon Shaman was the last straw. I just hadn’t told Jack yet.
By Kim Love Stump5 years ago in Families
On Behalf of Evelyn Walters
Sarah ran the back of her forearm across her face to mop up the beading sweat. She stripped off her flannel shirt and threw it in a heap in the corner of the room, one of the few spots free of all the remaining unpacked boxes. Maybe she’d turn it into a gym. Or an art studio. Not that she really painted much these days.
By Abigail Lets5 years ago in Families
JUNKYARD GENIUS
How many of you enjoy the Wyoming wind? I am going to introduce you to a man who draws inspiration from the wind as well as items you and I might cast out: a bent fork or spoon, rusty pots and pans, a motor that doesn’t work, buckets, hard hats, or even old missile parts. For him, an idea can be sparked by any given object at any time of day or night.
By Janel Tufts5 years ago in Families
Magic Tickles Me
"Mommy, what's this?" Jacob called out to Morgan, who was rifling through boxes looking for their humidifier. She stood and clapped the dust from her hands. Jacob was deep within the storage unit, his bright orange shirt a beacon in the sea of debris. Morgan straddled a box of sports equipment, holding a pogo-stick for balance as she crossed over. She squeezed between two towers of crates and emerged four feet from Jacob. His fingers traced the gold and silver loop that formed a butterfly on the cover of an old book.
By Faith Hopkins5 years ago in Families
Mary
Now: Eleanor’s gaze lingers at the far horizon where the sky meets the sea, which shimmers and winks, like diamonds falling. She sips her drink and stretches long legs out, lazily. There are no worries, no pains, nothing to rush to. Her gaze falls onto the white sand where a lone sunbather lies in the heat on this exclusive beach.
By Anila Syed5 years ago in Families
No Hard Feelings
It dawned on Liv pretty quickly that driving a dump truck in heels was not optimal but the idea of being barefoot on these sticky floor mats was unfathomable. In daytime, a woman wearing a puffy-sleeved evening gown behind the wheel of dump truck would have turned heads. But, under the heavy blanket of the evening, only the orange glow of the intermittent street lights may have afforded a random passerby to raise a question or two.
By Rachel DuRossier 5 years ago in Families
Beauty
I slid my First Trust little black book under the plexi glass between me and the teller. “Would you like the balances to your accounts Ms Burst? All I would need is your passwords.” I come to this bank every Friday for a balance to my one account that never has more money than I expect to be in there. I'm praying for a miracle, sometimes even a bank error at this point. My business is failing and I'm behind on so many of my bills but I haven't lost faith yet. The teller asks me these questions every week and she always says accounts and passwords, I only have one account, why does she keep asking that? Was it protocol, who knows but I know my account was -$432.16. A couple charges that I forgot about while dealing with the final details of my grandmother's funeral came through and now I'm worse than before. Angela the teller could see the despair in my face when she gave me the news. I promised her I would clean it up by Friday. The crazy thing is she asked me again but this time she had a weird look in her eye, ``Would you like the balances to your accounts Ms Burst?” Girl you know I only have one account , why do you keep asking for passwords? She slid a piece of paper to me with my account balance that she had written in the little black bank book. On the paper it said “BEAUTY and LBB”. If I were you I’d look into this.
By LaBrena Parks5 years ago in Families
