The Stampede_Memories that Last Forever_Josie's Answered Prayers_You Can Go Home Again
Catalog Guide:
The Stampede
Well now, what can I say? It is an annoying experience to be caught in a traffic jam. There’s dust, there’s smoke, and there are fumes and vapours, blaring horns, angry engines, whining motors, swears and curses, heat, sweat and impatience. Have you ever been in a cattle drive that has stampeded? I most surely have not; that sort of experience is confined to those who inhabit the Prairie and the Pampas and the Downs,www.onedoor.cc but I will take the liberty to draw comparisons – we are in the middle of a cattle drive where the swirling dust has been replaced by hot engine exhaust, wild eyed steers for impa...
Memories that Last Forever
I should not be driving. The rain falls down fast and hard on the clear glass window of my white Ford Ranger like an awful foreshadow of the future. These big, fat, and ugly tears rolling hot and steadily down my face. Today had started out like any other day. The sun was out, and it was the middle of the afternoon. I had just finished grocery shopping and strolled into my client’s home. I was on pet-sitting duties as she was away on vacation for the next two months. Tamay was her name. She was a Tabby. She was 23 years old—she was alive by the sheer will and determination of her owner, Sandra...
Josie's Answered Prayers
“Are you there God? It’s me, Josie.” My chest and legs burn as I run through the surf, each footprint immediately washed away, leaving behind no trace of me. Sand and water spray the backs of my legs. My knotted oily brown hair whips around in the wind, hitting me in my face. I stop under the pier and position myself behind a wide leg.Inhale in, two, three. Exhale out, two, three. The rise and fall of my chest begins to slow as I work to control my breathing. I wipe the tears off of my cheeks and beach sand sticks to my face. I examine the slats of the pier, scouting an unobstructed view of th...
You Can Go Home Again
The bullpen phone rings just as my cutter settles into Johnny’s glove. He nods, but I know the ball was a little outside. I have the pitch if Johnny signals for it, but I’d rather not use it.Liggs, our bullpen coach, answers the phone, but other than his “Bullpen” greeting, he hasn’t uttered a word. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I prepare to throw a 2 seamer. I can feel Liggs’s eyes on me. He nods and hangs up.“Turner!”This is it. The moment I’d never been waiting for.I make direct eye contact with him. “How’s the shoulder?”“Itchy,” I reply. “The crazy cat we adopted sheds ev...