Posts Tagged ‘stories’

I remember a furry little friend discovering my tealight candles.  She turned around and tried to pretend she hadn’t been poking her face where she shouldn’t but somehow the scorched whiskers gave her away.

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Once upon a time, I sat in my father’s arm chair while my parents sat side by side on the neighboring couch.  I’m not sure how this seating arrangement happened.  I do remember that in the big chair I was loudly sharing my knowledge of the world.  With each proclamation my parents just nodded or said, “Mmmhmm.”  So I felt completely affirmed in my beliefs, right? But then at some point in the conversation, they denied my request to do something.  I stood up with all the wrath and righteousness of a fifteen-year old and said, “You can say that now since you think I’m a baby, but when I’m 99-years old …”  My mom interjected, “When you are 99-years old, you will still be our baby.”

That story keeps coming to mind as I show pictures of my brother Keith to friends. They are used to my stories of a little boy who planted a seed in a cup.  Or stories of the little boy I used to send to collect dandelions in our empty Easter baskets.  When they see pictures of the small boy now a man who towers over most people, and of the child now a father, they always exclaim, “I thought you said he was little?”  I just shrug and say, “He is little.  He’ll always be my little brother.”

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It was a nice surprise to receive word from the Somerville Arts Commission that my words are posted in the final installment of “Food from Afar,” the online series accompanying the food photographs on display in Davis Square, Somerville.  You’ve seen some of my Japan photos before on this blog or perhaps while strolling through Davis Square this month.  Now here are the stories behind a few of the pictures:  Food from Afar:  Kyoto.  And, if you’d like to see more photos from Kyoto, just click here.



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Do you remember your first dog?  I do.  A Cairn terrier in shades of brown, white and black.  I’m not sure what a little Scottish dog was doing in Lynchburg, Virginia.  She was an indoor dog, I am told, until she jumped into my crib and my mother worried that she had smothered me.  And, thus, she became an outdoor dog.  Fluffy, I called her, because of her long fur.  But if she’d had a long nose, perhaps I would have called her Nosey like my guest contributor, a young girl also living in Virginia, writing about her albino Siberian husky.


My Courageous Moment

By:  Sienna B.

I remember the time when I got my first dog.  I was very scared because I didn’t know what it would be like since I never had a dog only one rabbit. When I first saw the girl dog I didn’t know what to name her.  Since the dog kept pushing me with her nose I called her Nosey the dog.  And now she just lives up to the name Nosey.  Then Nosey became my only friend when I told everyone in school that I got a puppy.  I don’t see Nosey a lot.  She doesn’t live with my family and I.  My landlord said, “No dogs or cats allowed” in his duplex buildings.  I was really mad because I had to give her up to my stepdad.  I still go to see her every day of the week.

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