i don't sing at birthdays I pedaled my Schwinn Autocycle along the gravel road beside the Waterman's south pasture. The rutted road rattled the front fender almost enough to drown out my rendition of Gloria in Excelsis Deo. Almost, but not quite. Four of Charlie Waterman's cows standing by the fence-line mooed in tune to my song. I switched to Christ the Lord Is Risen Today near the intersection of the gravel and paved roads. Two lanky, flop-eared, black-and-tan hounds crawled out from under the front porch and added their howls in accompaniment. They ...continued...

We generally spend 10 hours (give or take a few hours) on the move each day. This means we spend the rest of the day in camp. Now when I say this I don't mean that we are sitting around a warm fire having drinks and kicking our feet up. We are generally unpacking the sled, taking the dogs off the lead, setting up tents, setting up the stove, or making water while huddled around a tiny blue flame that makes a shred of warmth that ekes around the edges of the tea kettle full of melting snow. We do have some downtime, such as now, where the tent is reasonably warm, meaning we can take our ...continued...

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Breaking Wild Horses By Cindy Gray Sometimes my dreams, even the ones I don’t really remember, leave me with a strange feeling of exhilaration. It&rsqu ...continued...

I was born, I saw, and I was conquered. Trying to unconquer myself. Thank you. Tommy H. Birk. In Jasper, INDIANA! ...continued...

👀 WRITE LIFE STORIES and SELL MORE BOOKS Five years ago after attending one of my book signings and a Lewis & Clark monologue presentation an administrator at Johnson Country Library, Overland Park, Kansas suggested I create a workshop that would assist those who wanted to write their life story. Since the launch of that program I have made over (50) presentations to a variety of organizations. One that added a new dimension to my effort occurred when I encountered a class of (80) 3rd grade students at an elementary school in Kansas City, Kansas. At the end of the c ...continued...

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When he was in his early eighties, my father taught me about the possible depths of his love. I knew my parents had a fine relationship but I never realized how much my father adored my mother. There was little hint of his admiration and passion in their visible every day relationship. Only after my mother sank into Alzheimer’s did my grief-worn father reveal his immeasurable love. Oh he didn’t talk about his feelings: he was, after all, a WWII veteran and a man raised to stoically endure for the sake of his family. But he showed me his devotion every day. Lesson I: “Is ...continued...

As dad reversed mom came flying down wit a bag of snacks for the road. She gave it to me; we said our goodbyes and the journey began. A journey started with fear uncertainty and indecision How rude of me I didn’t introduce myself I’m Yasmin recently turned eighteen and right now on my way to my probable school of higher lea ...continued...

THE MAGNIFICIENT MENTOR The notice in the church bulletin read, “Anyone interested in writing, meet in room 312 on Tuesday night. Bring some writing to share.” My heart skipped a beat. I had prayed about how I might start to write about the experience our family had been through with our daughter and her spinal cord tumor. And now, here was an answer. I had written poetry f ...continued...

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I have six brothers and one sister, I'm the seventh child, the only house I've called home is where my parents still live today, 3743 Flora, Ave. Kansas City, Missouri. I attended the Old Faxon Elementary, 3710 Paseo, located on the next street over where we live, so I walked to school with my brothers, Mark and Jeffrey every day. My kindergarten teacher, Ms. Lucky was my first inspiratory of life, I met her after I grew-up and she had gotten married so her last name became Mrs. White, but she'll always be Ms. Lucky to m ...continued...

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Chicken or Dare I have a history with chickens. Not a good history either. As a matter of fact, the appearance of a leg of chicken on my plate brings me flashbacks of a long ago visit to my great grandmother’s farm during one of our frequent trips to Smithville to visit. We called our great grandmother Ganny. Her real name was Zelma Lizzie Christine Franz Kunkel. My older cousin inspired the name Ganny since he was the oldest of our generation. There wasn’t anything magical abo ...continued...

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