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Jane Wilson's Blog

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Jun.30.2013
My ancestors settled in Dowagiac, Michigan before the Civil War and someone from my family has lived here since then.  I left immediately after I graduated from high school in 1973, and returned after living elsewhere for almost 40 years.  I'm the only family member left here, so I...
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Jun.20.2013
I'd intended for my June 13 entry to be my last for awhile, but in light of all the generous comments and honest feedback, after serious deliberation, I made a tough decision.  I need to edit and repost my last entry. No more cow. Truthfully, I like the cow.   I'm sure she'll land safely...
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Jun.13.2013
I love writing. I love chasing rabbits into lush alfalfa, witnessing a cow land safely after being tossed by a tornado across three counties, watching the vapor billow from her nostrils as she tears up and swallows, dirty roots and all, a clump of a farmer's field.  I love being a garter snake...
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Jun.08.2013
I have strong opinions.  Too often, I keep them to myself, which is cowardly.   I promised I would not write another sad story for at least awhile.  This isn't a tale.  It's true and it happened, here.                    ...
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Jun.02.2013
My mom still whispers to me.  Sometimes it happens when I'm still.  More often, it seems, I hear her in the midst of doing something as routine as returning a book to the library.                              ...
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May.29.2013
A few years ago, the last two digits and the outside of my left palm became numb.   As I’d been unable to find a primary care physician who was taking new patients, I went to the local walk-in clinic.  I described my symptoms to the physician’s assistant on duty, who, after a...
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May.26.2013
People have so little to do in Dowagiac, they make up stories.  The tales are much more colorful than anything that actually occurs here. When something interesting happens, the real events are eclipsed quite rapidly by rumors that sprout like poison mushrooms, mutating spontaneously into...
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May.18.2013
Two of my favorite characters are Miss Spinster and Judge I.M. Oldenbald. I like them because they wear the same clothes much of the time. Judge Oldenbald has lots of liver spots on his bald pate and smells musty. Miss Spinster teaches school. Their conversations are boring. Until Judge Oldenbald...
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May.18.2013
There is a method to the madness that affects writers. It's recorded on crumbling papyrus and stored securely in a box that is padlocked, encased with chains and sealed with Gorilla Glue. For good measure, a wizard and a witch cast a magical spell that cannot be broken for several centuries. A...
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May.05.2013
Last weekend, I tried to write "The Torch Bearer."  Tried, as in formatted and reformatted the original version countless times over the course of several hours, using two different word processing programs.  Each time I previewed the copy I'd pasted to my Redroom page, all my...
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May.02.2013
The tagline posted by a 67 year-old widower on an on-line dating site reads:  "I will be a good gentle fiend."
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Apr.27.2013
Yesterday I found a yellowed piece of paper interspersed with some old photos of the house I was forced to sell a few years ago and a single Polaroid from my one and only wedding. Sometime in the past 30 years, I tossed the paper in the box, where it remained, unfolded and unread.  My...
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Apr.20.2013
Mom relied on me to keep an eye on my brothers, who fought constantly. When she confiscated every toy that could be used as a weapon, they engaged in hand-to-hand combat. When they were around 6 and 7, they pushed the living room furniture against the wall and spread a double bedsheet on the...
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Apr.09.2013
Eva Lesko Natiello's recent post about Martha Stewart's legendary organizational skills reminded me of a story I heard from a resident of Seal Harbor, Maine, where Martha owns a home.  According to the resident, Martha entered a shop in town and asked to use their telephone.  The...
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Apr.05.2013
  I spent two summers in the Appalachian mountains in the late '70's. The first year, I sold passes to the tourists who drove up the Blue Ridge Parkway to the Skyline Drive, where I greeted them from the tiny ranger station at the southern entrance. The second summer, I tooled around on a...
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