“Connected account or narration of some happening,” c. 1200, originally “narrative of important events or celebrated persons of the past,” from Old French estorie, estoire “story, chronicle, history,” from Late Latin storia, shortened from Latin historia “history, account, tale, story” (see history).
- The Lake“Okay, kids,” Mother bellowed enthusiastically. “It’s time to go to the lake. Let’s get packing.” As a child, Mom’s momentous announcement could not have come sooner. The cabin at the lake was the quintessential vacation […]
- The Battle of EarlBlasting through the flaps of the tent, I splashed my seven dollars and twenty-five cents onto our makeshift war table. This wasn’t just any war table though. Crafted from the finest scrap plywood and held up with four plastic milk bins, we drew a scaled drawing of the playing field, my parents house, in permanent marker. Watching the quarter roll into the front yard, Robert John piped up with an idea.
- The Rustling“If cats could talk, they probably wouldn’t” – Nan Porter
- When Negotiations FailWith twelve years of experience under my belt, I considered myself an extremely adept and formidable negotiator of the highest order. Combined with two other agents, we had nearly forty years of combined training and […]
- Unyielding FaithI have always championed the sentiment that my parents were the epitome of “true and unyielding love”. They say memories become slightly misaligned from the actual truth of the events. That might be true, but […]
- Lost GoodbyesI was twenty-one when word came from another airman that I was being summoned to the squadron commander. In my gut, I knew why I was being requested. I hastily packed my training books away […]
- To the Left of Mrs. TThe cross-town rivalry between our two schools was an epic event that filled bleachers and the minds of everyone who would lay witness to an epic battle. While the gymnasium resonated with the sound of […]
- Happy Birthday TommyOn any given day, you could always find Mom perched in her comfy padded chair at the small eat-in kitchen table. Behind her the kitchen window was always wide open; bristling in the sounds and […]
- They’re Not Like BullwinkleAs I tooled through the winding roads of the Adirondack Forest in my 1972 Volkswagen Super Beetle, dusk was fast approaching. I was still a good two hours from my final destination, Canton ATC College […]
- The Fence Post and IAwakening to the frenzied sounds of the Adirondack wildlife, I found myself mumbling in a state of irritable restlessness. My consciousness resisted the temptation but even blanketing my head under the comforter provided no useful […]