First-person narratives based on real human experiences. The moments that change us. The relationships that define us. The lessons we carry forward.
At 6:47 in the evening on the Saturday of my daughter’s tenth birthday party, with a rent check for two thousand three hundred eighty dollars... Read more
At 5:47 in the morning, forty-three minutes before boarding for a flight none of us would end up taking, I was standing at gate A19... Read more
The chair at the head of my mother’s table was burgundy velvet. She had owned it for thirty-two years. It was not an expensive chair.... Read more
My daughter Kayla put my paid-off house up for sale on a Tuesday, drove out to tell me herself, and when I said no she... Read more
The photograph was four inches by six, in a thin gold frame, and for five weeks it was the only thing in that room that... Read more
The drought broke me before it broke the wheat. I want to start there, because most people who knew me back then would have said... Read more
My name is Arlene Whitcroft. I am seventy-eight years old, and I know what my neighbors say about my yard. I’ve known for two years.... Read more
For thirty-one years I stood in the same spot in the choir loft at Bethel Grace, second row, third from the end, on the alto... Read more
I came to Bethel Grove that first Sunday in July carrying two dozen glazed donuts in a pink box, a jug of red Kool-Aid, and... Read more
I want to tell you something I have never said out loud, not even to the women at church who used to call me a... Read more