Aug 16, 2016 |
The Bluecut Fire is a bad dream. This fire went from zero to over 18,000 acres in twelve hours. Twelve. Hours.
I’m not sure what I’m going to wake up to tomorrow. I’m not sure I want to go to bed tonight.
I’ve posted photos and updates on Facebook throughout the day. Here’s the collection.
The fire started around 10:30 am. I was at working, jamming out to Luke Bryant on the local country station and writing new policies for a client when my boss came into the main area. She was on her cell phone and changed the radio. … read the rest. . .
May 11, 2013 |
This Mother’s Day Weekend, I took my family to a different sort of outing.
The Hesperia Station Activities Committee is a support group for our local Police Department. Consisting of officer’s spouses and significant others, this group takes on the burdens behind the scenes. They’re quick to support families of police officers and not just in difficult times. They gather together to show their common bonds when an officer retires or has a baby. They raise funds to help with family-based social events throughout the year. They draw attention to the lesser known side of being a cop’s family. They … read the rest. . .
Dec 6, 2012 |
Tonight I saw something I’d never hoped to see. On the street behind mine, behind my neighbor, a house caught fire.
We were watching TV when I heard the sirens. Not terribly unusual since we live just a mile or so from the aptly named Main Street, which as you can guess is the main thoroughfare from one end of town to the other. The weather is teasing us with a prelude to the expected weekend storm, and the clouds have been hanging low all day. The traffic sounds echoed throughout the night. We were even treated to the train’s … read the rest. . .
Sep 13, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Another Writer’s Digest Community short-short story from last year.
Time to Say Goodbye . . . A New Beginning.
She closed the door, closed her eyes. She heard only the clicking of the lock falling into place as the only thought was her repetitive mantra, “Never again…”; racing, disorganized, scrambling any other sense of composure she may have had earlier.
Keeping her eyes as closed as possible, she stumbled down the hall toward the Living Room, and laughed a cynical laugh as the traces of death still surrounded her. Photos of an old love, letters … read the rest. . .
