Grandpap's Photo

It has creases and folds on one side from years of being buried in a box of memories I found hidden away.

Time has curled the picture and faded the subjects in it,
To the point they appear out of focus.

The print is scratched and rounded at the corners.
The mat finish is rough to the touch.
The picture itself feels heavy,
Reminiscent of an ancient development process long since forgotten.

The negative is lost.
This is the only shot of the two of us that I know of.

You’re sitting in your beaten tweed chair as you always did.
Dressed in your olive drab shirt,
Grey pants,
And horned rim glasses.
Looking up at me with love and pride.

I was Grandpap’s boy.

You smoked too much,
Gambled too much,
And drank too much.
But I never saw it.

All I ever saw is what I see now in this photograph.
The man, who in the final throws of Alzheimer’s, remembered two people.
His father, who he called “Pap” and me,
His boy.

First Class Ticket (Part II)

As promised, here's Part II of "First Class Ticket."


Sandra fumbles for a moment looking for her keys to unlock the door. She soon realizes she left them in her car, which was still sitting at the end of the driveway. Sandra runs back to the car as fast as she can, gripping tightly to what seemed to be her newfound fortune. When she reaches the end of the driveway, Sandra hops in her car and squeals her way to the top. She and the car come to a screeching stop when they reach the house. Sandra put the car in park, rips the keys out of the ignition, and leaps out of the car leaving the car door open in the process.

She fumbles with her keys and finally finds the one to the front. Her hands are shaking so much with excitement; she finds it difficult to put the key into the lock. After a few attempts the key finally goes in and Sandra unlocks the front door. She pushes on the door so hard, she nearly trips over onto the floor as the door slams against the inside wall. She drops most of her belongings nearly hitting the cats and stumbles her way to the kitchen table.

Sandra yanks out one of the chair and plops down at the kitchen table. She sits for a bit in silence and holds the letter out in front of her staring at it as if she was waiting for it to speak. Her eyes were fixed on the letterhead; she kept reading it over and over again in her mind.

“Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England”
“Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England” “Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England”

As she repeated it to again and again the words became almost musical to her. After singing the song of the letterhead a few more times Sandra moved down to the rest of the letter.

“ Dear Ms. McKibbin,

We regret to inform you of the death of your Aunt Jillian Newcastle. We wish to extend our deepest condolences to you and your family in this your time of grief.

In the event of Mrs. Newcastle passing, her will was acknowledged and instructions of said will were to be followed to the letter. With that being said, we would like to inform you that you have been named sole heir and executrix to Mrs. Newcastle’s estate. Contents in which include but are not limited to, a country home, a flat on London’s west side and an account with the Bank of London estimated to hold up to forty-five million pounds in cash and stocks.

As executrix of the Mrs. Newcastle’s your presents is required in the United Kingdom to settle various legal and business dealings as soon as possible. Enclosed our firm has provided you with a First Class to England to be used at your earliest convenience. Please feel free to contact our office at anytime if you have any questions or concerns. Again we extend our sympathies to you and your family at this time.

Sincerely,David H. Naden, esq.”

Forty-five million pounds! Sandra didn’t know how much that was in American money and at that point she didn’t care. Nor did she care who Jillian Newcastle was; all she knew for sure was her life would never going to be the same again. And she was thankful.

The next morning Sandra contacted the Solicitor’s office in Chapel-en-la-Frith and told them she had some prior “business” to take care of before leaving town. She indicated to Mr. Naden she would be on the first plane to the United Kingdom the following morning. Out of curiosity, Sandra asked who Jillian Newcastle was. Mr. Naden provided the short version of her family history and it turned out Mrs. Newcastle was Sandra’s Great Aunt on her father’s side of the family. Sandra was her only direct living relative and so the estate left to her.

Aunt Jillian was a one hundred two when she passed away and spent most of her life traveling the world. She loved meeting new people and trying new things. She was an accomplished cello player and earned her black belt in karate. In her lifetime she met kings, queens, diplomats and concubines but her only regret was no getting the chance to meet Sandra before she died. Sandra sat and listened in amazement as Mr. Naden went on about her Aunt Jillian and her adventures. She found it difficult to believe she was related to such a person. The biggest adventure Sandra ever had was when she took someone else’s clothes home from the Laundromat. Sandra thanked Mr. Naden for all the information, hung up the phone and started to get ready for work.

As Sandra stood in the shower with the water running over her, she thought about what Mr. Naden had told her about Aunt Jillian. All the experiences she had, all the people she met and how she appreciated every moment of it. Sandra started to reflect on her own life, what she had done with it or what she didn’t do with it. Never taking a risk, always afraid to try new things or to meet new people. Staying safe, protected and sheltered. Sandra dropped to her knees in the shower and began to cry. Her tears mixed with the water running down her face, thirty-seven years of frustration and disappointment gushing out as if a damn had broken. All the years of pain, sorrow and anxiety being swirling down the drain with the soapy water. After a few minutes Sandra pulled herself together, got out of the shower and dried off. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her image. In her mind she asked herself, “What now?”

Sandra began to search through the drawer of her vanity for the make-up her cousin gave her last Christmas. She found the kit hiding in the bottom drawer behind the curling iron she hadn’t used in years. She pulled them both out, plugged in the curling iron and started applying the make-up. Since she almost never wore make-up, the most Sandra could hope for was not end up looking like a rodeo clown. Once her “war paint” was on, Sandra began to curl her hair in tight thin curls. Being careful not to burn her forehead in the process. She brushed, combed, teased, splattered and spackled only to find when she was done, a whole new person looking back at her. Sandra held her head high, stood a little taller, pushed her chest out and smiled as she went into the bedroom to find a dress.

Looking for a dress in her closet turned into an archeological dig for Sandra. Deeper and deeper she searched until finally she came across the dress she wore to the company New Year’s Eve party two years ago. It was aquamarine with a hint of sequence and matching belt. Right below where the dress was hanging were the shoes she wore as well. She blew the dust off of the shoes, took a lint brush to the dress and got dressed.

Strutting out of the bedroom in her dress and heels she goes to the refrigerator to get a carton of milk. She bends down and grabs the cat’s water dish then empties it in the sink. She opens the top of the carton and pours milk into the cat’s water dish then puts it back into place. She snatches her purse with her keys, swings it over her shoulder and twirls out the front door to her car. She hops in the car, starts it up and tunes the radio to the alternative rock station. As she heads off to work Sandra decides to take the long way in, for a change.

Twenty-nine minutes Sandra pulls into parking lot and parks her car right in front of the employee’s entrance. When she gets out of the car, she leans back and takes a long hard look at the CILCO building. For the last thirty-seven years she never bothered to notice how much her workplace resembled a prison. It nearly made her ill just to think about it. But that feeling passed rather quickly, Sandra refused to allow this place to take any more away from her. So she stood up straight and marched inside.

When Sandra walked inside she noticed right away the steamy, foul smell of the place she had been ignoring for years. She wondered ho she stood it for so long, as she walked over to the time clock. Sandra looked on the wall and noticed her punch carded was the only one remaining on the wall. She rifled through her purse for a lighter. When she found one, she ripped her punch card from the wall and lit it on fire. Holding it in her hand for a while, she smiled as she watched it burned down to the corner before dumping it into an empty trash can near by.

Sandra took that same trashcan with the ashes of her punch card in it and dragged it to her workbench. She pulls the can along side the bench, flips on the overhead lamp and with one tremendous swoop of her arms knocks everything on the table into the trash. When all the metal, tools and equipment hit the can it made such an incredible crash that everyone stopped what they were doing. When they looked up all they saw was Sandra take a moist towelette from her purse, wipe off her workbench and flip off her overhead lamp.

As she walked out of the factory for the very last time, one of her co-workers shouted to her, “Hey Sandra! What’s going on?”

Sandra stopped, turned and said, “I quit and the name is Sandy.”

First Class Ticket (Part I)

Hey Folkes!

Here is Part I of the final story I had to hand in for my writing class. I'll post the Part II tomorrow. Let me know what you think!

I will be posting new essays, poems and stories beginning next week. Stay tuned!



The alarm went off every morning at four-fifteen. Sandra rolls over, hit the snooze button twice, before finally getting out of bed. Her two cats were the first to hit the floor, followed by Sandra’s feet. She stretches her arms, legs, fingers and toes straight out then puts on her slippers. She stands up in her pink plaid flannel pajamas and shuffles to the door to begin another day. The same day she has had for the last thirty-seven years.

Sandra makes her way out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen. On the counter she has already laid out her vitamins, sugar, coffee mug and spoon. The coffee has already started brewing because she programmed the timer on the pot to start at four-twenty. Sandra opens the fridge and reaches in for the butter, juice and an English muffin. She pulls a plate and glass from the cupboard along with a butter knife from the drawer. She slices the muffin in half, pops it into the toaster, pushes the lever down and waits. A couple minutes go by and the muffin ejects from the toaster with a familiar sound. Sandra pours the juice into the glass and the coffee into the mug with two teaspoons of sugar. No more, no less. She sets the kitchen table with her breakfast and begins to eat. She chews the English muffin, drinks the juice and swallows the vitamins. While the cats do a figure eight around her legs purring as they go; Sandra sips her coffee.

When breakfast is finished Sandra rinses of the dishes and piles them neatly into the sink. After giving the cats a quick pat on the head, she heads back to the bedroom. There Sandra slips out of her pink plaid pajamas and into her pale blue terry clothe robe with giant star embroidered on the back. She walks out of the bedroom into the bathroom and prepares for her morning hygiene routine.

Sandra begins by picking up her slightly worn toothbrush and squeezes toothpaste on to it. She brushes carefully and deposits two spits into the sink. She finishes by rinsing with water and gargles. She moves on to flossing before running the water for her shower. Sandra likes the water warm but not hot running at an even stream. Once the water is just right she disrobes and steps in. She starts with her hair, she tips her head back and wets her medium length, slightly graying blonde locks under the steady stream of warm water. She reaches for the shampoo, drops a dollop of the green liquid into her hand and begins to work it in. After two or three minutes in a fine lather, she rinses. Sandra soaps up a washcloth under the warm water. She works way up her body until she reaches her face. Sandra washes away the soapy lather that covered her. She turns off the water and reaches for the towel. She steps out of the tub and dries off. Then she hangs the wet towel on the rack mounted on the back of the bathroom door. After applying moisturizing cream, powder and deodorant she puts her terry cloth robe back on and heads back to the bedroom.

The cats follow Sandra back to the bedroom and sit in waiting as she picks out her outfit for the day. Her wardrobe has not varied much in thirty-seven years. She works on the line in a factory so her choices are pretty limited. Sandra selects a t-shirt, jeans, socks, underwear and a bra. She gets dressed and heads back to the bathroom to do her hair. Sandra stands in front of the mirror, pulls her hair back in a ponytail and wraps it up in a rubber band. She hits herself with one squirt of perfume and she’s ready for another day of work.

Before she leaves the house Sandra feeds and changes their water. Sandra grabs her lunch she prepared the night before from the fridge, along with her keys, purse, jacket and heads out. Just as Sandra is about to get into her car, she pauses. She looks to the sky, sees the clouds passing by, stops to listen to the birds singing and takes a deep breath. After that moment, Sandra gets into her beat up neon blue Cavalier and starts off to work.

Her drive to work takes exactly 12 minutes. The radio is always tuned to the country station and it’s the last thing she hears before turning the car off. She parks in the same spot she has for the last thirty-seven years. She gets out of the car and walks to the employee’s entrance which is a tiny door on the side of, what looks like, a huge gray aluminum box with “CILCO, Inc.” emblazoned on the side in giant green letters. Sandra enters the factory; the ‘swoosh’ of hot air and smell of burning metal hit her face as she waits in line to punch in. She inches closer to the clock until she’s in reach of her time card. Sandra grabs her card, slides it into the slot under the clock face and waits for the noise of the stamp branding her card, ‘KA-CHUNK’, six twenty-eight AM.

After dropping her lunch off in the refrigerator, Sandra makes her way to her workbench. Her soldering tools were just as she left them the day before. She flips on the overhead lamp, heats up the soldering iron and gets to work.

Sandra first grabs a piece of metal that she will solder. First comes cleaning the piece, she begins with a small wad steel wool making to sure sand away any imperfections that maybe on the metals surface. Next, she wipes it down with a solvent making sure to cover every inch of the surface. If the metal isn’t properly cleaned you may not get a strong low resistant joint. She places a piece of wire into one of the indentations on the piece of metal with a pair of tweezers. Sandra applies a very small amount of solder to the tip of the iron; this helps conduct the heat to the wire and the piece of metal. She rests the iron’s tip against both pieces of metal for a few seconds to heat them up in preparation to be soldered. Once both pieces are heated up, she applies the solder to both pieces and allows it to flow between them. Sandra does not apply the solder directly to the tip of the solder. She learned not to do that a few decades ago. When the joint between the two pieces are completely covered, she stops applying solder and sits back for a bit to wait for the metal to cool. After the metal has cooled, Sandra does another cleaning and puts that component aside to begin another one. This process will be repeated again and again for another eight hours with a half hour lunch and two fifteen minute breaks.

At the end of the day Sandra flips off her overhead lamp, places her tools in their proper place on the bench and wanders out to her car. She piles into her beat up neon blue Cavalier, starts her up and heads for home. Twelve minutes later, Sandra pulls into her driveway stopping at the end to collect the mail from the mailbox. The mailbox open with its usual squeak; Sandra reaches in, pulls out a stack of mail and shut the mailbox door. She reads of the envelopes one by one, not expecting any surprises. The heating bill, the cable bill, “You may already be a winner”, a reminder for her dental appointment next week and a large envelope from Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England.

Sandra wasn’t sure what to make of the letter. She hesitated for a moment; her hands began to shake as she flipped the letter over, she slowly ran her thumb between the flap and envelope to open it. As she opens he envelope, Sandra cuts her thumb on the edge of the paper, jerks her thumb into her mouth and drops the envelope on the ground. When Sandra bends over to pick it up, her thumb still in her mouth she notices a First Class British Airways ticket slid out of the top of the envelope. Still sucking her thumb she holds the envelope to her chest with her arm and pulls out the ticket. She holds it in front of her in shock she doesn’t stop to wonder why anyone would send her a plane ticket to England. A few minutes pass Sandra regains control of her common senses and reaches into the envelope to se what accompanied this gift. She pulls out a letter with Weber, Naden & Todd letterhead and begins to read it. As she reads on the expression on her face changes dramatically, her breathing speeds up and she starts to feel light headed. These feelings quickly pass and she lets out an enormous scream. Sandra runs to her house, leaving the car parked at the end of the driveway.

- Part II tomorrow

Diner Stories

Hey Folkes!

Here is a little exercise we did for class that I had a lot of fun with. We had to write five mini-stories with two characters in the same location.

Hope you like them!


For Better or Worse..but not this worse!

Jessica couldn’t stand the way Martin ate. She never could, which is one of the many reasons why she was going to ask him for a divorce. She figured it would soften the blow if she treated him to his breakfast at his favorite diner in town. But it just sickened her to watch him shovel in the eggs over easy, home fried and toast. Little pieces of the meal stuck to his shirt and the outside of his mouth. This maybe easier than she thought, she could feel the rage building up inside. It has been twelve years of this sort of crude and his pig-like behavior. The stains on his shirts, junk left all over the house, oil puddles in the garage from his precious motorcycle and the snoring that was loud enough to guide ships in from sea. It all had been building up to the one moment. Martin lifted his fork to put the last bit of egg in his mouth. Somehow it missed that huge trap of his and fell to his shirt with a ‘splat’! Martin picked it up off his chest and popped it in his mouth. Witnessing this in what seemed like slow motion, Jessica leaped out of her seat and screamed, “I WANT A DIVORCE!”

Grandma & Me

Grandma doesn’t get out that often anymore. Ever since her fall about a year, which broke her hip, she hasn’t been the same woman I grew up with. She use to be fearless and willing to try anything once. I can still remember the day she introduced me to roller-blading and the day she taught me how to cook octopus properly. She’s been around the world twice and flown across the country once in her own plane. But for some reason the fall turned her into a different person. As she grabs the spoon for her oatmeal her hands shake. They never use to tremble like that and she never needed help to get out of the booth to go to the restroom. As I sit across from her I look into her eyes, I still see the woman she once was in there. But it seems like she’s afraid to let her. She’s afraid she’s too old now, too fragile. I don’t think she is. I hoping these little day trips will bring her out of her she more. I hope they will help realize she is still the person she always was and always will be to me.

My Girl

For the four years we have been together we have come to this diner every Sunday morning for breakfast. I always get the banana pancakes with bacon and coffee. Taylor gets the egg white omelet with a fruit cup on the side and orange juice. Then we both share a Danish. But this morning was different; this morning was a reason to celebrate! My lovely Taylor whom I have adored for the past four years is about to become a woman! Yes, the checks have been written, the papers have been signed. He has waited so long for this day to come. Since the first day I’ve met him Taylor has always given of himself. He volunteers at the AIDS Hospice, delivers meals on wheels, organized a neighborhood clean up and helped out in the local soup kitchen. This is the only thing he has ever wanted for himself and I was happy to help give it to him. Taylor has had most of the money saved up but he was still short a bit. So I wanted to help him. Of course he refused to take any of it but I reminded him of all the good he has done for others and that he deserves a little of it back.

Stick 'Em Up!

This was our first ever time robbing a diner and we very nervous. Eddie and I usually stick to knocking over drug stores or gas stations. But we wanted to branch out, Eddie says to me, “Valerie, what’s life with out new experiences?” I have to tend to agree. All those other jobs were getting kind of boring. The same thing, same routine, all of those places are chains now so they all have the same security system, place where they keep the money and sometimes the same combination on the lock. Where is the thrill? Where is the challenge? Where’s the fun? It was about time we stretched our legs. We were getting into a rut. But we don’t want to be too cocky at first, that’s why we picked a diner that wasn’t that busy. We ordered breakfast with coffee and waited for the right time to make our move. I noticed the sweat beading up on Eddie’s forehead and I have to admit my knees have been knocking non-stop sine we walked in. But this is what we’ve been missing. We look at each from across the table, we nod and we know it’s time to go.

Love with a Side of Bacon

I’ve always sat alone in the corner booth with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. I don’t like to talk to anyone, be social or make eye contact in anyway. I just wanted to be let alone but then she came to take my order. She was a vision in pink polyester and white support shoes. Her body had more curves than the New Jersey Turnpike and her hair was as red as a beefsteak tomato. ‘Ashley’ was on her nametag and she was more woman than I had seen in quite sometime. She waddled up to my table in a sultry manner snapping her gum and flipping her pad to find a blank page. “Are you ready to order?” Her voice was like two seagulls singing in the mist. Never had I heard a sweeter sound in my life. I was speechless in her presents, so I raised the menu and pointed to the Sunday special. She squinted at the menu, scribbled down my order and smirked at me with those ruby lips. As she walked away, I thought to myself “Who knew such a goddess existed?” I melted right there in the booth. Ashley was to be my destiny.