Monthly Archives: July 2014
We made it! One year is in the bag. And from our perspective, it has been a major success. Read on for a few words of gratitude, some fascinating numbers, and several exciting announcements.
But the undeniable truth is out there: I, Catherine Kramer, am the author of Boy Meets World Continued, published by the Mrs. Vanden Brink Press (a print-on-demand operation) in 2001.
I didn’t say anything. Not yet. But I was getting drunker. Not off the single beer I had to drink, but off the flood of potent memories over our last eight years of friendship.
What if I still went out for drinks with those block-building friends I had in kindergarten? What if I still talked with my favorite deskmate from elementary?
It’s a little bit embarrassing the way our dogs affect us. We develop a language with them. We call them the weirdest pet names. We let them get away with things.
On our wedding night, Clarissa and I got a call from our roommates in North Carolina saying that our house had been robbed. Someone had thrown a brick through the kitchen window.
What happens when Jenn Langefeld actually means failed writer? I imagined stepping into editorial meetings and my real name slipping out. “Oh, you’re her? Scratch that contract.”
In an era when people derive meaning and identity through brand loyalty, Christianity should not be treated like a brand. Churches should not be treated like corporations.
The day she truly implanted herself in my mind as the worst choir teacher ever was the day I watched the home video of one of our concerts. I was in seventh grade.
Back in this time without television, movie theaters, and rock concerts, public speeches were exciting and entertaining, and, for the country town of Gettysburg, likely very rare. People would ride for hours, perhaps even days to hear someone.
We read fiction to watch people overcome their struggles. We enjoy tragic moments, because they are purposeful and developmental. Pain can drive a character or a plot to something complex and important.
Suddenly there are more things on my face that could go wrong. Is my mascara giving me a black eye? Did my lipstick make friends with my teeth? Does my eyeliner make me look like King Tut?
It’s a strange, rewarding experience to be surprised in your own home. There are small things: stores that never close, kindness from absolute strangers, the harsh omnipotence of air conditioning, incredibly friendly, sometimes overbearing customer service.
Millie is on the couch, looking sweet as can be. I go to scratch her little kitty ears and I see a look of deranged obsession come into her eyes. She. Must. Bite.
My future girlfriend laughed. After that, I probably didn’t say anything for the rest of the time at the table. I had peaked with that joke, already canonized in my head, replaying it over and over in my mind.
His work didn’t stop, even if the rain did. After a moment’s breath of rain-washed air and a sigh from the depth of his soul, he grabbed the umbrella and closed the door behind him.
The hum of tires on the road and the whoosh of other cars passing and the thump of bumpy highways has a way of drowning out the chatter of everyday life and transporting us smoothly to blessed vacation.
Costas is a short man with bright brown eyes, a salt-and-pepper beard. He dresses in long pants with a plaid button up tucked into a high waistband. Sensible walking shoes.
Dust off your old road bike, strap on some new tennis shoes, and buy some arm floaties if you need to! There is still plenty of time to prepare for your summer triathlon and secure the love of your life.
How many wind chimes would be considered reasonable? One, maybe. If it’s nice sounding (silent) and pretty to look at. Two are means for legal action. Guess how many she has. Go ahead.
I can only assume that the good citizens of Appleton must have incurred the wrath of an old crone witch at some point in the past. She in turn cursed the town.
It was the pilot who brought us together. We couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm and excitement. A shared laugh is more bonding than a shared complaint.
I approached the Mustang with my hands raised in surrender. No weapons. No threats. I passed through the glare of the headlights and saw three men sitting in the car. All were big in the Mike Tyson way, and all three looked angry.
Reading it with a Christian lens, we can find interesting and compelling parallels to another story of a beloved son climbing a hill with wood on his back.
Above the Scottish harbor town of Portree on a wooded hill known as The Lump stands what looks like an ancient watchtower, gazing blindly past the shoulders of the mountains to the Sound of Raasay.
When I finally figured out that my visa couldn’t be extended, and when my departure became imminent, my friends’ plans for extending my stay became more far-fetched by the day.
A first family pet, unconventional as it may be. “What should we name him, Liam?” asked Charis. “Koonk.” A fine name, indeed. Simple and zany and oh-so-Liam.
I didn’t meet Stephanie in the same way I meet most people. I don’t know much about her. I know she went to school, where not all of the kids were able to. She was one of eight children.