THE LATEST ON my writing
WELCOME to my STORIES page! READ my latest STORY or Search by the SERIES listed BELOW…
Born on the Hottest Day of the Year
"You were born on the hottest day of the year!"
My grandparents would tell my mom this story, without fail, on her birthday each year. Mom, the oldest of nine children, was born in a humid Iowa hospital without air conditioning. Her parents enthusiastically shared this story of her July 1944 birth until they died in 2000.
A Piano Story
Our beloved piano was on the auction block.
Soon up for bid as an auction item at my grandparents’ estate sale was our family piano.
This piano had a long and loving history with my family. It began at my grandparents’ home in the 1950s after being handpicked by my Grandpa’s sister, Sister Aidan.
The Gift Horse
My great-aunt sat next to me on my grandma’s floral couch. Squeezing in closer, she presented me with a little box.
“How I enjoy all of your letters! They are so well written and full of updates on the goings on in Remsen.”
A Last Childhood Christmas
“Wow, the airplane wings are full of ice. Not good.”
The words came out of my brother’s mouth as he sat next to me on a commercial airplane.
It was December 1986, and my first real plane ride at age nineteen. My brother, Matt, was seasoned in flying, just finishing a two-year Army stint overseas.
I Believe
I followed my grandpa up the narrow steel ladder in the dark of night. My two brothers were behind me, with our breath filling the winter air. Our portly grandpa led the charge, his enthusiasm overcoming any lack of athleticism.
Wonder Twins
“Wonder Twin powers, activate!!!”
My best friend, Bev, and I recited these words as we touched our plastic rings together. And then, without another breath, we went into a free-fall from her garage rafters.
The Garden
The huge garden on my parent’s farm southeast of Remsen, Iowa, was in the north corner of the east side of the big barn on a hog lot long ago abandoned but rich with “aged” manure.
A League of Their Own
“Who is that on the field?”
My friend Bev and I asked each other this question as we squinted from the baseball bleachers. We tried to make out the unknown player running in from the outfield. Although blending in with the other boys catching fly balls, we noted something was amiss on the baseball field.
“Is that Kim Schorg??”