Tag Archives: memories

BOB THURBER: My Father’s Mechanical Solution for Grieving

Submissions, Touching, , ,

He described the contraption as a hand-cranked device, sort of like a pinwheel mounted with glass prisms. Except, instead of light, the prisms reflected joyful memories. He claimed it worked like a dream, an absolute dream, revealing us all together, all alive, running around the backyard, leaping puddles, hopping rainbows.

Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.

JUDY MCKINNON: Homeward Bound

Submissions, Touching, , , ,

He recognized it immediately by the drip of paint hidden behind the wheel of the 1940 red and yellow workhorse, the long gone first tractor of his boyhood.

Half a century and a handshake later, it was his again. How proud his father would’ve been to see it come home.

Judy McKinnon lives in Toronto, Ontario with her husband and two sons, whose talents and creativity constantly inspire her. She has worked in business journalism for nearly 20 years.

TRACY GOLD: Her Boy

Artistic, Submissions, Touching, , , ,

Her son took her to see the scorched husk of their old farmhouse one last time. He stood behind her as the salt smell of earthworms soothed her wrinkled skin.

In her eyes, a mud-splattered boy ran through the yard and into the house. “Take off your shoes,” she said.

Tracy Gold is a Fiction MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. She also works as a marketer, writer, and editor for technology companies. Find her at tracycgold.com.

JOEY TO: Thickened Water

Submissions, Touching, ,

A spoonful of steaming red richness and she beams…

I smile back, happy I discovered this little café. “Fourth grade: you found the tomato soup unsatisfactory and hurled it at the wall.”

Her eyebrow raises. “We weren’t even friends then.”

“You were nuts! But aren’t you glad I remembered anyway?”

Joey wasn’t interested in writing while at school but has been writing on his own in recent years. Despite being a jerk, he does have friends. And some are crazy about their tomato soup.

TOM BARLOW: Disappointment

Submissions, Touching, , , ,

Downsizing after his death, she makes difficult decisions. Heirlooms, his suits, shoes, gone. The hardest? Her wedding gown, 50 years in its box. With parting tears she donates it, hoping another bride may enjoy her luck.

Halloween. The first child on her stoop, dressed for a wedding.

In her gown.

Tom Barlow is the author of Welcome to the Goat Rodeo and I’ll Meet You Yesterday.

ANN DE BRUIN: Dead Man’s Curve

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

Every summer my father paints three boulders beside the road in white reflective paint to warn motorists.

The cousins from Quebec had missed the sharp turn one night to crash against the muscular oaks that flank our property.

I heard their screams through my bedroom window until the ambulance came.

Ann de Bruin is an interior designer and writer living in Los Angeles.

HM DOWNS: It’s the Small Things

Artistic, Submissions, Touching, , ,

A memory test, these drawings of pennies. They say, “Which one’s the real thing?”

I close my eyes. I put a penny in my mind, imagine pressing it between my fingers. I run the pad of my thumb across Lincoln’s nose and remember him.

…I wish I could remember you.

H.M. Downs currently lives in Texas much too far away from all her favorite noses. It’s the small, strong moments like small, strong stories that help her remember them.

SUMMER STORIES – EILEEN MCINTYRE: Same Time Next Year?

Submissions, Summer Stories, , , ,

Runner-Up 1: “Artistic” Category

Mike and Dan attached weights to fishing lines and baited hooks. They cast and waited for the telltale pull. They wanted “Barney”.

Hours dragged by and the sun dimmed. Water splashed; other fish danced on the lake.

Mike and Dan swore they heard laughter as they trudged to their tents.

Eileen McIntyre is a writer from Northern California working on her first mainstream fiction novel. One of her essays will be published in an anthology by the end of the year.

The Stump

Odd, , , ,

They gathered around the stump, some eyes wet, some eyes hard.

“This tree,” said the eldest, “meant many different things to each of us. We all have reason to mourn it.”

There were some sniffles.

“Now,” said the eldest, “auction’s open! Who wants to bring this hunk o’ wood home?”

This story was based on the prompt “the stump” at TypeTrigger.

Scraps

Artistic, Touching, , , , ,

Her desk was littered with scraps of paper, each scrawled with its own collection of words, representing a thousand grasped-at memories.

It wasn’t working. They wouldn’t come back.

She stoked the fireplace and began dropping the papers in, one by one. Forget the yesterdays: time to start working on tomorrow.

This story was based on the prompt “scraps of paper” at TypeTrigger.