Why A Sunday Batch Of Lemon Bars And A Trembling Voice Through The Screen Door Cost Me My Quiet Illusion About Gary
Gary never raised his voice, not even when I put the Buick station wagon into a ditch behind...
Author: Vanessa L. Collins
Why Three Holy Men And A Stolen Honda Civic Cost Me My Quiet Sunday Pride
The folding chair under me creaked every time the choir hit a high note, which was often enough...
Why An 82 Year Old Man And A Rusted Coffee Can Cost Me My Cold Suburban Pride
The linoleum floor of the Farmers State Bank always had this faint smell of wet winter boots and...
Why A Yellow Legal Pad Note And A Four Thousand Dollar Withdrawal Cost Me My Only Son
The smell of wet wool and cold cider always lingers in the back of my throat whenever I...
Why A Stripped Copper Spool And Fourteen Thousand Six Hundred Dollars Cost Me My Quiet Bakersfield Pride
The heat out here in the Bakersfield exurbs has this way of baking the common sense right out...
Why A Small Oak Box And Fourteen Thousand Dollars Cost Me My Final Goodbye With Dad
The kettle on the old cast iron stove had this high, whistling shriek that always cut straight through...
Why A Trembling Late Night Phone Call From My Only Son Cost Me My Hard Learned Peace
The smell of cold linoleum and old vinegar always stays in the back of my throat whenever I...
Why Following My Husband Across The Iron Bridge And Watching Him Feed Two Hungry Kids Cost Me My Selfish Pride
I was tired of blaming him. Every single week for three months, things had been disappearing from the...
Why A Small Tin Box Of Receipts And Forty Six Thousand Dollars Cost Me My Only Son
I reckon the hardest part about raising a boy is not the noise or the muddy boots on...
Why A Small Handwritten Note In My Oak Desk Drawer Cost Me My Only Son
I should have known the silence was coming long before Jason packed his duffel bag and left the...