Posted in Appalachia

Storytelling Festivals

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Storytelling is one of the ancient arts of communication, existing all the way back to prehistoric times. In Appalachia, storytelling has been perfected. This weekend, Cave run Storytelling Festival will be held on the banks of Cave run Lake, outside of Morehead, KY in northeastern Kentucky, a town on the northern fringes of the Appalachian region of Kentucky.

The Cave Run Storytelling Festival is held in large tents at the Twin Knobs Recreation area at Cave Run Lake, surrounded by the beautiful Daniel Boone National Forest. It is open to the public on September 23 and 24. The featured storyteller this year is Bil Lepp, a nationally renowned teller. Other famous storytellers will join Lepp including Geraldine Buckley and Kevin Kling among others.

The Cave Run Storytelling Festival is an offshoot of the National Storytelling Festival held every year in Jonesborough, Tennessee. Carolyn Franzini, a professor at Morehead State University, visited that festival with her daughter and brought the idea back to the Morehead community. Finally, the festival was organized on the banks of Cave Run Lake and the rest is history. It is attended by thousands of people each year.

Visit Cave Run Story Festival for ticket and more information. #storytelling #Appalachia

 

Posted in Fiction, romance

The Lost Romance

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“This doesn’t feel wrong,” Rebecca said, as she and Patrick were saying their goodbyes before going to the airport. “We’ve waited so long to be together and it feels so natural. How could it possibly be wrong?’

Patrick smiled his soft, gentle smile at her. “Sweetie, from other people’s perspective, you know our relationship would be considered wrong. They wouldn’t understand. From a moral perspective, I guess it is wrong, but it certainly doesn’t feel wrong to me.”

“Nothing in my life has ever felt more right,” says Rebecca, as they hug and gently kiss. “How could this wonderful thing between us ever be considered a vice?’ Patrick just smiled and put his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the taxi.

Patrick had to fly to New York City to attend his daughter’s piano concert at Carnegie Hall. She was a classical pianist on a meteoric rise to fame. Patrick was meeting his wife and younger daughter there. Rebecca, a published author, was flying home to her small town in central Virginia where she lived with her husband and dog. She still worked as a writer. She and Patrick had been able to manage an interlude together in beautiful Charleston, South Carolina. A longer interlude than usual but it was never long enough for them, especially not for Rebecca.

As Rebecca climbs in the taxi that will take them to the airport, she looks at Patrick and thinks back. She had been in love with Patrick for a large part of her adult life. She had fallen in love with him a few years after she had married her husband, unfortunately. Patrick had also fallen in love with Rebecca and he was also married. It was just one of those things. Almost a love at first sight thing. Rebecca was not yet a writer and was hired at Patrick’s place of employment — a large bank in Atlanta, Georgia. He was a junior bank executive. She was a little younger and an even more junior bank executive. There was an instant attraction between the dark, handsome man and the blonde girl.

Rebecca smiles at Patrick as they race toward the airport and remembers how they resisted their attraction, though briefly, all those years ago. Finally, they gave in as they enjoyed being together so very much. The enjoyment they found in each other’s company gradually led to sexual attraction and their relationship blossomed into a full blown affair. Rebecca finds it hard to believe that was 35 years ago. She and Patrick have marveled at how they have found each other again after all this time. They have giggled about their ages now and then.

Patrick has been divorced and remarried since that time. Rebecca has been married to the same man. Both are content in their marriages in their own way but something has always been missing from their relationships and they have concluded that it is that mysterious something they have only with each other. That something neither can quite put their finger on but something they both need to be happy.

Almost to the airport now. The moment when they leave each other that they both dread. The two start chatting about what each will be doing during their trips to their destinations and after they arrive. Effectively just making small talk in order to avoid saying the important things they both want to say but think unwise under the circumstances.

Rebecca starts feeling like she always does when she leaves Patrick. Like she is about to lose a part of herself. She has so enjoyed the past few days. Curling up in his arms to sleep at night. Sitting across the table from him at breakfast. Having an intellectual conversation with him. Much more personal things that she can’t stand to consider right now.

Patrick turns to her and breaks her reverie. “Almost there,” he says. Rebecca can’t speak for fear of crying. The taxi pulls up to the taxi stand and they get out to retrieve their luggage. As they kiss and say goodbye, they promise to talk to each other soon. They are about to rush to different terminals. Rebecca grabs Patrick’s face and is able to choke out one sentence. “You are my love,” she says to him. “I miss you already,” he responds.

She turns to grab her luggage. When she turns back, Patrick is gone.

Something shrill is sounding in Rebecca’s ear. Suddenly, she wakes with a start and feels for the alarm clock. Shutting it off, she turns over to her back in her bed, pulling the covers tight up under her chin.

As tears stream down her face, Rebecca relives the dream she just had, the dream she always has, where Patrick vanished at the airport. The dream is always the same. She and Patrick, the man she has loved most of her life, reconnect for a brief time two years ago. They spend some wonderful interludes together that summer that seems so long ago now. It was 35 years after they had first met and fallen in love – and lost each other. After their last, and most wonderful time together, they go to the airport to fly off to their respective lives and, Patrick vanishes. That is always when Rebecca wakes, just like this morning. She has this dream night after night, rarely skipping a night.

The dream is so disturbing to Rebecca because it is an almost exact accounting of the truth except that day at the airport, Patrick didn’t vanish. He just caught his plane. In reality, they still had some time after that, but their time was short and Rebecca remembers every second of it. Even two years later. But, when the end to their time came, it was quick and brutal and Rebecca has never recovered. At her age, she knows she probably never will. After all, how can she stop loving a man she’s always loved when the end was not his fault?

Patrick was caught up in a situation that Rebecca did not really understand. However, not only had she given Patrick her heart, she had also given him her trust. Rebecca was notified that Patrick could not see her anymore back then two years ago. Then, Patrick notified her in a brief message that clearly did not sound like him. Rebecca did not question him or the situation. She trusted Patrick. She knew he thought he was doing the right thing. Rebecca, of course, wishes Patrick could have made a different decision.

Rebecca jumps out of bed and races to her bathroom to splash cold water on her face, to try to get rid of the demons in her head. The ghosts that plague her almost every morning. The questions. The desires. She slowly walks to the kitchen to get her morning coffee, remembering all the way all the mornings she and Patrick had talked all morning while they drank their coffee. She still hopes, every morning, that he will be on the phone or on the other side of the computer screen. He never is. She hopes someday those hopes will be gone but she doubts she will be that lucky or free ever again. Too much passed between them during that summer. Too much to forget.

Mostly, she wonders and worries about Patrick. They no longer have any mutual friends left. There is no way to get news of him, to find out how he is, to see if he is still in the situation in which he found himself. She wonders if he is even still alive, still reasonably well. Once a week, Rebecca faithfully searches the obituaries, just in case. Every few days, Rebecca also searches social media for Patrick but he long ago disappeared from that social scene. Still, she searches. Not because she would contact him. She wouldn’t. Just because she wants news of him, to know he is well and happy.

Happy. That word almost makes Rebecca laugh. Could Patrick possibly be happy? He was always basically a happy guy. She was surely not happy without him. How can you be happy without your love? The last thing they said to each other on that fateful last day was that they were each other’s loves. She hopes he found a way to be happy. Just as much, she wishes she could hear his voice, just one more time.

Rebecca knows that won’t happen. She won’t hear from Patrick again. He did what he had to do, probably to protect her. She has always had the hope that he would do what he said he might one day. He said that one day she might get a phone call and it would be him saying, “Rebecca, I need you.” That has never happened. Patrick has no way to know that she and her husband have been divorced for over a year now and there is nothing to protect her from.

“I have to get these ghosts out of my head today,” Rebecca says to herself. She jumps up, goes to her bedroom and puts on her clothes, and grabs her dog’s leash. She and her little dog start their morning walk up the road. No one, including Rebecca, can see the ghosts following close behind. She will never be completely free of them again and deep in her heart she knows this.

Rebecca goes about her days, sees her friends, and does some work. Her days don’t vary much. She doesn’t travel very much. Travel reminds her of Patrick as they traveled the world together off and on over the years. Over 1000 miles away, Patrick sits in his house, pretends to be happy, and quietly goes about the business of drinking himself to death. #amwriting #amblogging #writing #romance

Random Number 35

Time = 35 minutes
TBP’s On-Line Writer’s Guide #31

Excerpt from the upcoming novel The Lost Romance

Please see the excerpt from The Lose Romance – The Affair

Posted in weekendcoffeeshare

#weekendcoffeeshare 9/17/2016

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If we were having coffee this morning; actually, I would be having Hot Cinnamon Spice tea and serving you coffee, I am hoping you won’t mind if I whine a little about what a tough week I’ve had. Since you are my friends, and we share our weekly experiences together, I’m sure you will understand. It’s actually been both a good and a tough week.

Fall is coming to my part of the world. The leaves aren’t really getting color yet, but it is very dry here as it often is in September. The leaves are turning brown on a lot of the hardwood trees, like the oaks, and they are falling to the ground. I’m worried about some of my perennials. The leaves on my beautiful peonies are browning. I am watering them and I surely hope it isn’t too late to save them. I will be anxiously awaiting their arrival come spring, if I am still living here in the spring.

I planted a new little white birch tree this past spring and it has had its share of trouble. The wind has broken off parts of it twice. It is valiantly trying to survive. I know it can survive the winter as white birches survive the bitter cold in the north. I’m worried about it surviving the remaining heat and humidity, along with the dry weather here, before winter arrives. Like with the peonies, it is getting daily watering. I always like to have a white birch tree in my yard, though they are hard to grow here. It reminds me of my roots in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where they are so plentiful and beautiful.

I mentioned that I might not be living here when spring comes. Perhaps unfortunately, we all go through life changes and I may be about to go through a big one. It’s not the time for details yet but it could involve moving from my home. I will talk more about that to you when i know more. I do hope that I can stay here where I’ve been for 18 years. But, if I have learned one thing over the course of my life, it is that the only thing that is certain is change.

The change I may be facing is not one that I’ve wanted to happen but it may be necessary. I’ve been very sad about this change over the last few days. Enough said about that for now.

I am contemplating a new job in business consulting along with my writing career. I have been attending some meetings with regard to this job and it is fascinating. The changes in my life will have some impact on how involved I get in the consulting practice in the short run. I will keep writing as it is a catharsis for me. I have all kinds of new ideas for fiction and a plethora of ideas for non-fiction pieces. I’m excited to get started on these ideas. I don’t quite know what to write first!

I don’t know what this coming week holds for me, but I do know that I will be writing here on my blog. I hope all of you enjoy your coffee this morning. Thanks for letting me talk with you. Have a wonderful week! #weekendcoffeeshare #writing #amwriting #amblogging #dailyprompt

*#weekendcoffeeshare is sponsored by Parttimemonsterblog

Posted in Politics, The Economy, Travel

2016 US Presidential Election: Pneumonia or the Economy and Foreign Policy?

 

imageI am discouraged by American journalism. I am also discouraged that the American people don’t demand more from their journalists and their Presidential candidates. I will certainly be interested to watch the upcoming Presidential debates although we cannot forget that early voting will have already started in some states. It seems this Presidential race is a slog,  toward, at best, mediocrity.

Let’s look at what’s important. Hillary Clinton’s very temporary, very common bout with pneumonia is not important regarding this election. This is an illness any one of us could contract and recover from very quickly. THe press and her opponent have made a much bigger deal out of it than it is, probably to deflect attention from the other issues that they should be discussing. However, since these two candidates are the oldest ever running for the White House, it is appropriate that they release their health records.

Our biggest economic problem is jobs. We hear wholesale promises of jobs from Mr. Trump but he has no plan to magically manufacture them except he talks about bringing industry home. Home to what? Dilapidated plants that are light years behind technologically? In some cases, no plants or factories are left at all. Clinton has a jobs creation plan that will add about 10 million jobs during her first term. However, she also talks about the revitalization of the manufacturing sector and this writer thinks that is dreaming. She does plan to put people to work on the infrastructure which is desperately needed – if she can get funds from Congress.

It is a little more difficult to figure out Donald Trumps’s plan for jobs. He says he wants to bring back jobs from China, Japan, Vietnam, and other countries but he is not clear what he wants to bring them back to. WIthout a manufacturing and technology sector, Trump’s plan to bring back jobs seems to fall flat. He is also not in favor of raising the minimum wage.

WIth regard to foreign policy, Mr. Trump has very little experience. He is a nationalist. He is not in favor of many trade agreements with other countries or is for very strict terms. He wants to appease and support Russia while doing the opposite with China, seeing China as our enemy.  He does not support the Iran deal and does support strong men ruling the Middle East.

Mts. Clinton has been a diplomat for many years. Her foreign policy is based on diplomacy. She is very well-schooled on the issues facing the US from other countries in the world and would be one of the most knowledgeable leaders in modern times in foreign policy due to her background and her experience gained as Secretary of State.

One of the problems with this election is that the candidates nor the media are focusing on these or any other issues. Instead they are talking about Clinton’s illness or Trump’s medical history or tax returns. The American people should want to know these candidates’ stands on issues, not their personal extraneous issues. OTherwise, we cannot make informed voting positions.

If you understand the issues, get out and vote but educate yourself first so you can make an informed voting decision. #dailyprompt #2016presidentialelection #realDonaldTrump #HillaryClinton #amwriting #amblogging #writing #economy #foreignpolicy

 

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction

The Diamond

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The exotic-looking man stood at the jewelry counter waiting on the diamond expert. The expert was appraising the frightfully large diamond. He had just sent word that it was over six carats. It was multi-faceted and seemed faintly pink. What the expert didn’t know is that it was millenia-old and priceless.

The exotic-looking man was getting restless. He had been there, in public, for a long time. He needed to get back to his friends and his home. He needed to sell this diamond for the children in the Old Country.

The expert appeared and gave him price at which they could try to sell the diamond to their high rollers in the gem world. He offered to showcase it for the man and he placed it in the window of the shop. Rays of the sun hit it and it glowed. The man shrank back into the corner.

THe transaction was complete. The exotic-looking man walked out the door and vanished into thin air. #FfFAW #amwriting #amblogging #writing #flashfiction

*Photo courtesy of Jade Wong

*FfFAW courtesy of Priceless Joy

Good books!:

Discovery of Witches – All Souls Trilogy

Posted in Creative Nonfiction Essays, education, Lifestyle, Women's Issues

A Letter to my 15-Year Old Self

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Do you ever think back to some past point in your life and ponder what you might do differently if you had it all to do over again? I find myself doing that at critical junctures in my life. Recently, I’ve thought about myself as a young teenager and what she might do differently if she had the opportunity to write a different script for her life. I think some of what I determined might be better courses of action for her might apply to others so I thought I would share them with you.

  1.  If I could be 15 years old again, with the wisdom I have now, I would ignore the boy I met at the college basketball that night when I was truly 15. When he came over to me, sat down beside me, and introduced himself, I would get up and walk away. I would know that I wasn’t ready to date anyone, including that boy. I would know that this boy came from a different background and we wouldn’t understand each other. I would sense his underlying bad temper and be fearful of him. I would not waste three years on him and let him change the course of my life forever.
  2. If I could be 15 years old again, with the wisdom I have now, I would be looking at colleges in other cities rather than just in my hometown. I wanted to go to an Ivy League school and I would try to make that happen by getting scholarships. Instead, I let my parents talk me into staying at home and going to college in my hometown. It was a good school, but I wanted to go to a great school – an Ivy league school. Instead of majoring in what was popular at the time, I would double major in Classical Piano and English and head off to New York City after college to seek my fortune – a good music school that would accept me into their program.
  3. If I could be 15 years old again, with the wisdom I have now, I would realize that I would have my friends from my time in the first 12 grades of school with me all of my life but that I would also make other lifelong friends during my life journey. I would not care quite so much about the “sibling” rivalry that springs up in a small private school like mine. Rather, I would realize that when we all grew up, the petty stuff would be gone and we would renew our friendships on an adult level and support each other the rest of our lives.
  4. If I could be 15 years old again, with the wisdom I have now, I would listen to my parents when they advised me not to marry as young as I did. For me, very little good came from marrying so young and, perhaps, a great deal of harm. Marrying young caused me to be unable to know myself as an adult beyond functioning as a half of a couple.
  5. If I could be 15 years old again, with the wisdom i have now, I would spend more time with my parents as they got old. Of course, my dad never got old. He didn’t get that chance and I didn’t get the chance to know him as an adult because, during the few years he lived when I was an adult, he was working hard and I was working hard. We failed to prioritize our relationship – something I will always regret. My mother did get old and spent the last 14 years of her life in my care. Unfortunately, she was beyond strengthening relationships at that point.

IF you could go back to 15 years old, what would you do differently? #amwriting #amblogging #writing #lifestyle

Posted in Appalachia, Eastern Kentucky, history

Melungeons of Appalachia

Friday Fare to Appalachia

Since at least the 1800’s, there has been a mixed blood strain of people living in pockets of Appalachia called Melungeons. The groups of Melungeons are/were located near Carmel, OH USA and Magoffin County, KY, USA. One main pocket of Melungeons were located in Hancock County, Tennessee, USA. A group of about 40 families lived on the Tennessee/Virginia border.

The Melungeons would occasionally migrate to Carmel, Ohio, possibly to find work in the swampy onion fields in the area. In Magoffin County, Ky, there was very little work for them. They lived in an area where farming was difficult due to the mountains and very narrow valleys.

The Melungeons were thought to be a mixture white, actually some mix of European immigrant stock, African and Native American. They were sometimes called The Lost Tribe of Appalachia. The actual racial descent of these people was a mystery until the Melungeon DNA project was able to make a breakthrough which was published in the peer-reviewed journal of Genetic Genealogy in April 2021. They were found to have been a mixture of sub-Saharan Africans and white Europeans in the days before slavery.

Melungeon people had some particular physical characteristics. They had dark hair and skin with light-colored eyes. There were wide variations in appearance among family members. They had a bump on the back of their head, right above the neck, called the “Melungeon bump.”

As laws were put into place that forbade the mixing of races, the people known as the Melungeons had no choice but to inter-marry. After the results of the Melungeon DNA project were published, many were upset as their families had claimed Portuguese or Turkish ancestry for generations. Most thought Melungeons had some Native American characteristics, but the Melungeon DNA project found very little mixing with Native Americans.

The Melungeons faced extreme discrimination wherever they went. There are very few people of mixed race descent in most of the Appalachian region. It is a region primarily composed of white people of Scottish-English-Irish descent. People with  a darker skin stand out and face discrimination. The Melungeons also had particular surnames that identified them. Some of those names were Gibson or Gipson, Nichols, and Colllins, among others.

I can speak first hand about the discrimination the Melungeon people faced. One side of my family came from Magoffin County, Ky. I can remember my grandmother cautioning the grandchildren “not to be like the Gipsons.” We did not know who or what “the Gipsons” were. We only knew that they were a family whose behavior was considered somehow “dirty” and we were not supposed to emulate it. This is the type of discrimination these people faced. In order to fit in with the general population, the Melungeons self-identified as white mixed with Native American. According to the results of the Melungeon DNA project, the females were primarily of white, Northern European descent and males were mixed African and white descent. There was very little Native American found in the Melungeon DNA project.

The current state of many of the Melungeons is that they have intermarried and moved out of their home areas and intermingled with the majority groups in society. Many people in and out of Appalachia are curious about the Melungeons and whether or not they could have Melungeon blood. They use services like Ancestry.com to try to locate any possible Melungeon ancestors. #Melungeon #amwriting #amblogging #Appalachia #writing #Melungeons #MelungeonDNAProject #Appalachia

 

 

 

 

Posted in Appalachia, Creative Nonfiction Essays, Eastern Kentucky, Poverty, Uncategorized

Appalachia: Hillbillies, Rednecks?

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So are the terms hillbillies and rednecks, when used to refer to the people of Appalachia, considered derogatory? The short answer is yes, usually they are. If we explore where those terms originally came from, we’ll see that they were not necessarily meant to be derogatory terms but the American people took them and ran with them. Remember The Beverly Hillbillies TV show? The Dukes of Hazzard?  Deliverance, the movie? These words were certainly derogatory in connection with these television shows and, in the case of the first show, gave the viewers something to laugh at. In the case of the movie, Deliverance, these words were more to frighten and horrify viewers.

It is unclear where the word “hillbilly” originated, but it may have been derived from similar words in the Scots-Irish culture. The Scots-Irish people were among the first settlers of Appalachia and may have brought this word with them. The word “hillfolk” was used by the Scots to describe those who preferred living in the mountains and isolation from society. The word “billie” was used to refer to a companion. After the Civil War, Appalachia became perceived as backward as the US moved westward and Appalachia was left isolated geographically and inbred because of that. During the Great Depression, and after, there was outward migration from Appalachia to the north in search of work. The poor whites who emerged from the mountains became figures in stories and the characterization of “hillbillies” emerged even stronger.

When “hillbillies” self-identify, they simply say they are people living in the mountainous regions. When “rednecks” self-identify, they refer to a time when union coal miners fought against mine operators who were trying to oppress them and wore red bandanas around their necks. Rednecks often tie themselves to an entire political and cultural movement in the US. Both terms tend to take on derogatory meanings when used by outsiders. This writer prefers the term “Appalachians” to reflect the proud heritage of the people of the region. #amwriting #writing #blogging #Appalachia

 

 

Posted in Creative Nonfiction Essays, Lifestyle, Women's Issues

The Most Elegant Lady

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I always blame my aunt for my credit card bills. Even though she has been gone now for a long time, she had great influence over me in many areas. Education. Behavior. The way I view my family. The way I view the world. And, perhaps unfortunately for me, the things that I like including clothes, accessories, and home furnishings.

My Aunt Red was the most elegant lady. She lived next door to me as i grew up. She was a fourth grade school teacher in a small elementary school in a county in northeastern Kentucky. She came from a county deep in the heart of eastern Kentucky. I’ve often wondered where she learned to be so refined, such a polished and stylish lady in a land where elegance wasn’t necessarily the norm. Survival was. I still can’t answer that question. But, I do remember seeing her reading Vogue Magazine years before anyone else around this part of the country knew what Vogue Magazine even was. In the 1920s, she was even a flapper girl!

Aunt Red was the definition of elegance in everything she was and did. She was dignified to a fault and graceful in her appearance and behavior. She dressed in a tasteful, yet simple, manner. But not cheap. Never cheap. Since she did not live in a place where designer clothes were available, she ordered them from nearby big cities. From stores like Saks. She started buying designer clothes for me when I was 12 and did so up until I left home at 20. Even after that, she would surprise me with clothes. The first designer piece of clothing she ever bought me was a black coat which I wish i had to this day. She taught me what to wear and what not to wear, lessons I remember still.

Do you see why I blame her for my clothing bills? Her lessons about appropriate, fine clothing are so ingrained in my head that I could not buy anything else if i tried and her lessons were taught to me 50 years ago.

But, Aunt Red was not all about clothes. She embodied elegance in many other ways. She was the glue that held our family together. Even more than my grandparents. After her death, I saw cracks start in my family. Cracks that have grown wider and deeper with time. Aunt Red helped people. She had many friends and, if it was within her power, she never let anyone suffer or want for anything. She took care of me, an only child, when my dad was working out of town and my mother couldn’t. She taught me to read at three years of age and put me in piano lessons at four. She was my second mother in every way that made a difference.

Aunt Red could go anywhere, fit in with any group of people, and look and sound like the best educated person in the room. She could discuss any subject and make any person to whom she spoke feel like they were the most important person she had ever met.

She passed away from a horrible, painful illness way too young. She never complained like the elegant lady she was, right to the end. The last thing she said to me, the night before she died, was to admonish me to finish my education. I loved her very much, as did everyone in my family. Every girl should have such a dignified, exquisite role model. I consider myself very lucky indeed. But i still blame her for my credit card bills! #amwriting #writing #amblogging #lifestyle

Posted in Flash Fiction, Labor Day

The Man’s Retreat

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We looked at the property in the fall and the deep gold of the leaves astounded us. Behind the main house was this shed. Just the kind of place my husband liked for himself. A retreat. Never mind that is was open air with an air conditioner in a strange place or that it was only partially painted. My husband was handy. He could fix all that. I think he wanted to buy the property more for the shed than the house.

He had big plans for that shed. It would be his work room for his woodworking. He could store his plethora of parts he kept to fix anything that went wrong in the house or with the cars.

More than that, he could make it his own with a little creativity. He insisted that we buy the property. He already felt at home. #amwriting #writing #blogging #FFfAW #flashfiction

*Thanks to PricelessJoy for #FFfAW ahd pholor for the photo prompt.