Tag: past

Corry Writer’s Block Blog

A quick shout-out to those of you who belonged to the Writer’s Block writing group in Corry, PA. I joined the group in 2002, three years after Corry author and newspaper columnist Beverley Bittner founded it. I decided to post some the group’s old news columns and stories for historical reasons. Our group didn’t have

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Car Hysteria (Seduction Revisited)

Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Earlier today shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men with sleek fast brand-new cars that rubbed and kissed their trousers and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness. Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats where stale memories surfaced and breathed new air striking deals in brown cubicles under the breath of fresh coffee.

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Elsie Gee Cartoons

Art by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. I took a “Drawing Cartoons” class when I was a kid because I used to draw them in my school notebooks when I was supposed to be paying attention to my teachers. I was a big daydreamer. Luckily, ADD wasn’t a big social issue then, so I was

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A Past Kept In Shoeboxes

I used to keep my snapshot photographs stored in albums. When I married and had children, my wife and I did the same for many years. Then, somewhere along the passage of time, we stopped storing our photos in albums and tossed them into empty shoeboxes instead. Now we have 30+ years of unlabeled shoeboxes

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Walking The Dark Road

My blog is 4 months old and it already feels like a neglected child crying for attention. September has been a busy month here at the Dey residence with the transitioning of my children going back to school and getting them to pay attention to their new schedules. My oldest has been a champ at

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Tales And Secrets (Before The Tales Begin Revisited)

The old woman hovers near the woodstove and drags a calloused hand across her crinkled forehead as if wiping away smoke and sweat. She pauses, looking; her eyes flash between her fingers and strike my soul. I feel her in my mind, looking, searching, all the while reading the history there. Where have I gone

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Remembering

Do you remember how we crept along fences young together I, at twelve, stumbled through the other side of eternity never to think we’d ever become middle-aged Do you recall homesick high-school weeks making us feel gentle like days of a last breathless uncertain chord played— a warm rich memory of an old woman’s concert

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There’s Still Time

The young woman came across an ad in the Sunday paper for an upcoming movie called The Golden Compass. She grew instantly excited and babbled to her mother and aunt how this is the greatest thing ever. Of course, they give her that look, the Mr. Spock of Star Trek look, the one with one

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