Welcome to my blog "Stories from the Middle." I hope you find it entertaining. Find out more about me on the 
“No, Tim! No!” Ron hollered as he, and his best friend, flew out of the boat, splashing into the hot ditch near the Sangchris Lake power plant like lobsters tossed into a pot of boiling water.
Of the 8 million Americans who received their second Covid-19 stimulus payment on a debit card, my 90-year-old mother should not have been one of them.
When it comes to Christmas, I’ve never gone all out like they do in the movies.
My family isn’t perfect.
We don’t always agree.
We have our own opinions
and that’s okay with me
The two women stood in the church foyer nose to nose, arguing over the color of foil surrounding the Easter lily pots.
It didn’t matter to them that it was Easter Sunday, that the church was packed to overflowing or that every member had turned to watch the commotion behind them.
The first year Ron and I were dating he gave me a 973-page book for Christmas, The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. Any other woman would have thrown it at his head. Lucky for him I’d rather read than be frosted with diamonds. . . . Continue reading
It was not our intention to spy on our daughter and her friends. Honest! It was a fluke. A chance coincidence. A July 4th opportunity we couldn’t pass up! . . . Continue reading
Damn birds! I knocked their house off the front porch light with a broom then hosed off their leftover building debris for the second morning in a row.
I looked for eggs first; I’m not heartless. Plus there’s a federal law that forbids disturbing an occupied nest. Not that any of my neighbors would report me, but one never knows. . . . Continue reading
After hearing disparaging stories about the fruitcake’s shelf life of 100 years, I never had a desire to try it until I discovered mini loafs of the seasonal concoction in my grocery store a few years ago. It was that first loaf that started the whole sordid fruitcake affair. . . . Continue reading
According to my mother, when I was a toddler my dad said nothing made him happier than when I paid attention to him.
What did he mean by that? Was I too busy playing tea party to notice him, so when I was attentive it was extra special? Or did I shower him with love and kisses, leaping into his arms the moment he stepped foot in the house? It’s all speculation. My mother doesn’t even know what he meant.