Mary Dansak

Recently, my stepmother Janie cleaned out her attic and unearthed a bag of my old letters and my 5-year diary. Oh, that sweet little diary! Behind its red leather cover, embossed with black and gold trim and the English coat of arms, it held the promise of greatness! I’d write every day for five years, filling each day’s allotted four lines! I’d keep up, no matter what.

About nine years ago, I had the harebrained idea to invite my late dad, then 83, to kayak down the Coosa with my husband Joe, our daughter Emma, my stepmom Janie, and me. Actually, the harebrained idea might have been Janie’s. Regardless, we figured the old river rat would have a great time out there floating. He was done spending his days creek-walking, my favorite pastime with him, and we figured the kayak was a nice way for him to get back out on the water.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Tipi Joe asked innocently.

Everyone in our household growing up appreciated books. There were no limits. Robert and I were allowed to have all the books we wanted and to browse to our hearts’

I can’t tell you when I first heard about the mermaids of Weeki Wachee; they’ve been there swimming about in my psyche my whole life it seems. An article I

We regularly walk our dogs at Kiesel Park. These almost daily walks have boosted me to become interested in wildflowers, and what some people call “weeds.” I’m especially enchanted with

It hit me last night and it’s still rambling ‘round my head this morning. I’ve made my decision: today’s the day for my semiannual Krystal Burger Binge.

Let’s travel back in time, not billions of years, just to 1977, when this futuristic, spidery spacecraft was launched. That year, we reheated food on the stove, twirled our bodies around telephone cords, and although Apple Computer was officially incorporated, we still made “computers” out of cardboard refrigerator boxes and cast-off Christmas tree lights.

When I was little, I used to curl up with my mama in her floral-sheeted bed and beg her to tell me about the day I was born.

“The vets say we should put him down,” the horse trainer told me with tears in her eyes. Behind us, Buck, a regal buckskin Quarter Horse, stood trembling in pain, his back right hoof and leg mangled from an accident with a cattle guard and barbed wire.