Category: Memoir
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How to Be Stuck: A Lesson from 1866
“Wednesday, March 21, 1866 Last night we had thunder and lightning, and a shower of rain which continued through the night. I did not go out visiting this morning [or] in the afternoon. Lizzie and I went up to town and purchased some dry goods. Good calico is 23 & 30 cents per yard, lower…
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From double-sided cabinets to persimmon pudding: Four generations in and out of the kitchen
When my mom was a girl, children weren’t exactly welcome in the kitchen with the grown-ups. But I love having my granddaughter as sous-chef!
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What’s happened to winter?
Bunkhouse. U-shaped dinette. Under 4,000 pounds. Murphy bed. Sadly, my website filter settings have yielded few local results this week as I’ve been combing through RV sales websites. We’re ready to escape the Indiana winter and replace it with balmy temperatures. A low of 50 degrees would be perfect. We’d even take 40 degrees, now…
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The Name Board
A family legacy Splintering sections of plywood painted a graying white lean against my living room bookcase. They await my next move. Covering the 2×4-foot raggedly sawn pieces and written in a tapestry of red, black, yellow, blue and green the signatures slightly fade each day. Some block printed, some in neat script, others shakily…
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The Baumpies arrive
A shaft of moonbeam pierced the upper pane of glass, so bright that as it hit my face, I thrashed, untangling my restless legs from the crisp percale that imprisoned them. Wadded now where the foot of my bed met the sloping ceiling, my sheets released me to the light’s magnetic pull. Cool, rough floorboards…
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Who threw the cheese?
Kids and Their Secrets The errant slice of American cheese that ended up on the bathroom floor has baffled all investigators for more than fifty years. Its softened edges, missing corner, and sweaty surface reside far back in my brain’s mystery album. Not a single one of us four kids admitted to tossing it beside…
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Call me
A poem about becoming Mastermind, I once was tagged in my introverted days. Arranging, calculating, quietly driven. Then Field Marshal, planning, executing, holding the torch, urging my battalion into victory. Often Fixer, eager to improve any situation, to declaw a beast, and watch it smile. Sometimes Seven, grabbing every random chance for growth to enjoy…
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Bring back “The Benton Bugle!”
My husband bemoans the lack of local newspaper reporting. There are still a couple of reporters, but our print news now comes mostly from the USA Today Network. As a former newspaper employee, going back to having a paper route when he was twelve, he despises reading the news online, even if it’s mostly the…
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What I didn’t learn at church camp
Dark clouds stormed across the lake that evening, as we sat in the camp mess hall staring at mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Our table, usually filled with noisy fourth and fifth graders wrapped in towels and damp bathing suits, was silent. Inside the safety of the third floor of the Quaker Haven lodge, a few campers…
