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Write a story. Uplift the reader. You can use 55 words. No more, no less. We will be counting.
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Knott, Jessica
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She once waved scarves for back alley races. Passed tools for fixing up race cars. Drank beer with the guys. Went to honkey tonks with her sisters-in-law. She was raised in Kentucky, never left her roots. Cats & yorkies were her children and fabric arts her joy. I wish her peace & relief from pain.

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As children, we got a new Christmas ornament every year. The tree told a story, with ornaments collected throughout our lives. I still decorate my tree with my childhood memories. It’s June, and from my makeshift office, I gaze at the tree I didn’t have the heart to take down. It still makes me smile.

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Beagle, Calvin,  11 years old, bowlegged and pigeon-toed, champion howler, joined our family on March 8th.  Lia, 9 year old,  Lhasa-Poo lets the old guy know who is top dog in this house. March 13th: my last day with my students. I set up shop at a card table. They doze. New lives intensely together.

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Our doctor told us that Mom’s cancer was rare, fast-growing, and genetic. My heart was breaking. I looked at my beautiful little grandson with tears in my eyes, tears I could not help… tears I could not hold back. His hand reached up to my cheek, and he said, “Grandma, will you pray with me?”

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I pick up a miniature broom, hand my daughter, who’s three, a miniature mop, and she says, “What’s this?” and I say, “Air guitar,” and she says, “What’s that?” and I say, “Air guitar,” and then I turn up the volume – “Fox” by Dogleg – and we leap from chairs and thrash/laugh/shriek louder, louder, louder, louder.

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I can’t breathe, from thinking about tomorrow. What will happen to you, what will happen to me… what will become of her, and what will become of him, and how will that affect us, how and what will we be? Then I smell your fragrant hair and I know that we will be alright, baby.

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You might be tempted to think it is dark here, with little light, little warmth. But it is not. It is rich with life and there is beauty here too! Even here in the days that are less lit, and a little colder, it is beautiful. Don’t you forget that uplifting part of our story.

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Despite the line from Ghostbusters, it's not a big deal. My stepdaughter returned home early from her last semester at UBC missing graduation, wanted a kitten. Felix the dog is calm, but has a history of chasing cats. But not Mags. Not only do they play, he seems to be teaching her his zen way.

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Alan Levine By: Alan Levine

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Taken on April 16, 2020

Public domain

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Tons of sea stories … served in the Navy for 22 years. Moved so many times before retirement. Worked in supply chain logistics for 5 years. Followed a passion for learning. Started a degree in ID and new position in higher education last August. Wish I could meet everyone personally at OLC Innovate in Chicago!

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Last June we got chickens and built a coop. Last October we froze the rest of the pears. Last November we planted a garden. The Pandemic hit. Our blooming celery survived the winter, our chicken are laying eggs, and the sweet pear cake is cooling. 

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Last June we got chickens and built a coop. Last October we froze the rest of the pears. Last November we planted a garden. The Pandemic hit. Our blooming celery survived the winter, our chicken are laying eggs, and the sweet pear cake is cooling. 

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Worst purchase of 2020, my day planner.  Every day seems like the last.  Weekends let me catch my breath to breathe.  Learned my husband is a loud talker and has no patience on the phone.  In the craziness of it all, a job change after 20+ years. Where do we go from here?  somewhere safe.

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Hamachi the cat.  Orange.  Yellow tail. Teaching us how to tend to her.  Bang on door with paws till we wake up.  Jump up on sofa. mutual grooming.  I brush, she licks.  I hide my hand--raw from covid hand washing.  She paws at the blanket.  Where's the hand?! Must lick and love. More. Yes.

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Hamachi the cat.  Orange.  Yellow tail. Teaching us how to tend to her.  Bang on door with paws till we wake up.  Jump up on sofa. mutual grooming.  I brush, she licks.  I hide my hand--raw from covid hand washing.  She paws at the blanket.  Where's the hand?! Must lick and love. More. Yes.

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Droplets of water cling to the green of new growth, illuminated by faint beams of light pushing
out the darkness. Nature speaks with distinct sounds, forming a cadence of assurance that the
violence from above has passed. The passing of a storm stirs gratitude for what follows. Quiet. Peace. Beauty. Waiting for this to pass.

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You see, it's not about up or down, or back or forward.

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You see, it's not about up or down, or back or forward.

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You see, it's not about whether you're going forward, or backward, or sideways. It's about keeping on, and moving in some direction, not being stagnant, and not being too scared to make a move. In times of struggle I've moved backwards more, and certainly forward less-but I've moved. P.S. 99 steps in Virgin Islands.

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MOVING IN A PANDEMIC: Change jobs, spend a night with husband in ER as pandemic emerges; move 37 years of materials from art facility to house; move 37 years of art and life from house to storage; sell house; move to Washington State, teach amazing students; attend OLC innovate, make good food, walk and shelter-in-place. 

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MOVING IN A PANDEMIC: Change jobs, spend a night with husband in ER as pandemic emerges; move 37 years of materials from art facility to house; move 37 years of art and life from house to storage; sell house; move to Washington State, teach amazing students; attend OLC innovate, make good food, walk and shelter-in-place. 

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My mom is learning to use bluetooth microphone in video chatting. She is open to learn new tools and new technology!

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Since we started this journey, you’ve changed my life. So, can I have food love? Of course, you may find me curled up in strange places but someone in this house should get 19 hours of sleep. and we know it won’t be you! By the way, I’m ready for my supper. Of course I love being in your arms! But let’s be serious here, I can’t wait to be fed! 🐈

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In March, I felt paralyzed and afraid. In April, I tried to adapt and stay positive, with some success. By May, my need for preserving my mental health drove me to discover new ways to feel connected to a world that felt lost. My determination and hope increase daily, for myself and for my family.

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In March, I felt paralyzed and afraid. In April, I tried to adapt and stay positive, with some success. By May, my need for preserving my mental health drove me to discover new ways to feel connected to a world that felt lost. My determination and hope increase daily, for myself and for my family.

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Car broke down en route to Stonehenge. Used the spire of the Salisbury Cathedral as my compass, traversing the footpaths to make it home. Decades later learned these paths are called desire lines, "made over time by the wishes and feet of walkers, especially those running contrary to design." We make the path by walking.

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Address says 517 but houses go from 515 to 519 and skip 517, my friend and I discover at dark, in a Mexican city. We knock on 519 and explain our predicament. They invite us in for dinner and to stay the night. We laugh, eat, play guitar and sing. Next day, we find it.

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Since I was a child, I’ve used literature to escape difficult times.  I survived my grandson’s cancer and thusfar this pandemic by going to Louise Penny’s Three Pines.  I imagine myself in the bistro, sipping coffee or a glass of wine with the characters that I’ve grown to love.  Her books are magic – try them.

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I discovered my grandfather’s birthplace in Italy thanks to the tradition of naming children after our elders.  And thanks to Ellis Island ship manifests I learned Bruno and Lucia were my great grandparents. The same as my aunt & uncle!!! Why was my mom named Angela?  I made the trip to Italy to find out.

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The day I went to the rest home with Mr. Orlando and Eleonora, I had just about 15 minutes to absorb the news that I had a second cousin in Curinga before we came face to face in the visiting area of the "casa di riposo". Despite the fact that Eleonora told me in the car about my relationship to Maria Orlando, I still couldn't believe what I was hearing. I wanted to believe her, but part of me was still holding onto my own beliefs that I had constructed based on vital records from the town hall: Maria's mother had no children because she had never gotten married.

I was tremendously emotional despite my lingering doubts. I sat in the visiting area and tears were streaming down my face. A box of tissues was no where to be found.

I waited in suspense as Maria walked slowly from her room to the visiting area. Mr. Orlando greeted her in the doorway and said,

"Maria. You have a visitor from America. She is here to see you now."

Maria responded, "Isn't that strange. I dreamt two nights ago that someone was coming to see me from America."

My eyes opened wide and Mr. Orlando said, "Look! She dreamt you were coming. What a coincidence."

Once Maria was seated before me, I was at a loss for words. I had to ask Eleonora to help me because I couldn't get the words out of my mouth.

Word by word, question by question, Eleonora and Mr. Orlando introduced us and asked Maria questions to make sure we were really related. It was an emotional conversation as Maria was reminded of her mother, Rosa Orlando, and Rosa's brother, Carmelo, my grandfather.

"I remember when Carmelo died. The news destroyed my mother. After his death, she became ill and she never really was the same again."

Imagining my great aunt Rosa grieve her brother's death allowed me to experience my grandfather's existence in a very different way. There is something about hearing memories and seeing tears that is much more powerful than reading a death certificate from the town hall. It didn't matter how many times I read my grandfather's death certificate. I couldn't feel his death with a piece of paper. Until I could talk to someone who remembered his passing, it seemed as if he didn't really exist. Before this moment, I had only a handful of stories about him and no pictures to create an image in my mind. My mother shared very little with me about him because he died when she was nine years old. She was never able to tell me much about him, except that he was Calabrese and he would carry her around on his back when she was very little.

It occured to me at that moment while I sat with my second cousin that we shared a commonality. Neither Maria nor I had ever met Carmelo. We had only heard about him through our mothers and we understood the impact his death had on both of our families. With his passing, Rosa lost her hope for her younger brother's future in "America." With his passing, my mother would experience her childhood without a father and her siblings would leave middle school to become the bread winners of the family. Just by hearing Maria speak about this event, I was able to feel myself in the year 1937. I was able to feel some of the grief my family experienced when Carmelo Orlando died.

Two years of my family research culminated on that day in the casa di reposo where I met my second cousin, Maria Orlando. I had worked for 2 years trying to uncover the origins of my grandfather's family. I didn't know who or what I was searching for, but I knew that something wonderful and unexpected was waiting for me in Italy. I had never imagined it would be Maria. Afterall, I had convinced myself that her mother had never given birth to a child since she was listed as single on her death certificate.

The day following my visit to the rest home, I pulled out my digital camera and I looked at a picture of Maria. I felt a surge of energy and assurance run through my body, and it was as if everything fell into place at that moment. I looked more closely at the picture and suddenly I could see my mother's eyes and my uncle's mouth. At that very moment, I had absolutely no doubts that Maria Orlando was my cousin.

I had found my own blood in Curinga.

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The day I went to the rest home with Mr. Orlando and Eleonora, I had just about 15 minutes to absorb the news that I had a second cousin ...

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Once there was a delicious looking and smelling cheeseburger. As I slowly raised it to my mouth and closed my eyes, I anticipated the flavorful wonder about to meet my tastebuds. I chewed slowly and intentionally. I didn’t realize someone was watching in awe, capturing with their glance this intimate moment between woman and burger.

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“Do you have a pressure cooker?” she asks me. Or did she ask, “Don’t you have a pressure cooker?”, implying that I should have one. “No”, I answer, while in fact, I do. Margie’s old heavy-duty one that exploded in the kitchen one day. BAM! Margie loved that pressure cooker. I have her thighs.

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“Do you have a pressure cooker?” she asks me. Or did she ask, “Don’t you have a pressure cooker?”, implying that I should have one. “No”, I answer, while in fact, I do. Margie’s old heavy-duty one that exploded in the kitchen one day. BAM! Margie loved that pressure cooker. I have her thighs.

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I swam in the mall fountain once. My grandfather was talking to the other old guys. I jumped out a window once. Just to see if I could. I like rules. I hate rules. I never learned what the rules were. I still don’t know. I was feral. I am feral. It’s how I survive.

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We made flower beds this year in our garden. So we dug, dug, dug and removed yard upon yard of soil. Unbeknownst to us, our lettuce had self-seeded and with the wheelbarrows full of soil also traveled little lettuce seedlings far beneath the earth. They sit, enjoying the summer and view of the garden.

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There once was a girl from Nantucket, oops, wrong Padlet.  This is a true story.  I read Hillbilly Elegy and wondered if he was me.  It is easy for me to feel like I don’t fit in.  I don’t, generally.    But, OLC.  That place that showed me my way.  And, I am found.  Writ stop.

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There once was a girl from Nantucket, oops, wrong Padlet.  This is a true story.  I read Hillbilly Elegy and wondered if he was me.  It is easy for me to feel like I don’t fit in.  I don’t, generally.    But, OLC.  That place that showed me my way.  And, I am found.  Writ stop.