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Sundays at Granny's
THE CREAKING OF grandma’s rocker doesn’t really bother me. But her wheezing sounds do. Heeesshwho. Heeesshwho. Then she starts that load of doo-doo about her funeral. One Sunday a month I get to see...
View ArticleEndearments
I miss the endearmentsas sweet as roseslove's soft lullabybabe. sweetie. honey.my heartlong ago broken and stitched togetheragainagainagainthis is where hope livesthis is where faith ariseseven...
View ArticleThe Ghost of Scat Creek
“I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE doing this,” whispered Lana May as she and her best friend, JoJo, crept through the underbrush near the creek. “You’re not scared, are you?” Lana May wouldn’t admit...
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