Joy drove north along I-81, her thoughts set resolutely toward a new start and a new home. At a rest area just outside a small Mennonite community, she reflected on the drive from Charlotte. She had pushed hard, driving non-stop through heavily populated areas, but now she took in the farmlands surrounding her, smiling. … Continue reading #StartingOver
Author: Alma Wallace Fenter
As far back as I can remember, I loved talking and telling my stories. One of my fondest memories is a squirrel hunting expedition with my grandfather when I was four years old. I chattered away, until he told me, "Baby Cricket, you've got to be quiet. The squirrels can hear you." I sat silent for about 30 seconds, then said, "Oh, PaPaw, let me talk." I still tell stories now; I just write them out instead of talking them out. Well, according to my husband, I still talk them out -- a lot. So many more things to write about since I was four years old. Marriage, children, homes, jobs, grandchildren, all kinds of people. I love people!
Lynn stood at the back of their small silver SUV, smiling as she watched a soft snow falling quietly around her, wisps of ginger hair slipping from beneath her white cap. Jake unloaded their luggage onto a cart. He had given her a choice of places to spend their two-week honeymoon and she had known … Continue reading Honeymoon at Silver Pines
Getting old has its drawbacks. Sometimes more than we ever dreamed possible. It also affords us time to remember the days of our youth, to fully appreciate the pleasures we might have overlooked. Today was a beautiful day as Sally sat in the swing under the oak tree enjoying sunshine and memories. Good memories. Not … Continue reading Ride in a Red Mustang
Kerri stood on the wooden deck watching large, colorful leaves floating down through hazy sunshine, covering the yard in another layer of fall colors, no matter how many times she raked them. She smiled pensively at the memory of two little boys raking leaves into a pile, then jumping in it with wild abandon. … Continue reading Changing Seasons
“Noooooo,” the travel weary writer moaned as she covered her face with her pillow the first day home from the Yearly Family Frolic. “Stooooop, don’t pull so hard, that hurts; don’t make me get up, pleeeease.” So the weary writer’s husband started pushing from behind...nothing, she didn’t budge. Not to be accused of cruelty, he … Continue reading The Travel Weary Writer
Alma Wallace Fenter 