A LITERARY COLLECTION FROM VERMONT WRITERS

Dedicated to Kenneth Ronald Brown, my husband of 31 years. He crossed over on April 26, 2026. My husband was a Marine. In death, he is still a Marine. I used to say, “ex-Marine,” but there is no such thing. Once the legendary end of boot camp “Crucible” is conquered and the Eagle, Globe and Anchor is pinned to your lapel, you are a Marine until the end of time. In September of 1998, Parris Island arrived in Ridgewood NJ when Ken took a part-time job as a crossing guard at a c

On the early morning of September 11, 2001, I had arrived at school at about 6:30 as usual and had no reason to believe it would be other than a typical day. After greeting students as they arrived on their buses and chatting with parents dropping off their kids, I was working with a small group of students in the library for about half an hour. When I returned to our office, Donna, the school secretary, informed me that she heard on the news that a plane had hit the World Tr

His beloved Vespa motor scooter had been stolen. I noticed it missing, early morning. I went back to the bedroom. "Gil, are you awake? Your bike isn't out back." "I know." "Where is it?" "Stolen." He went back to sleep. When he got up he asked me to drive him to the bus station. "You have to report the theft to the police or your insurance won't —" "I've got everything under control, don't worry about it. Could you drive me to the bus station?" He was still half asleep withou

After our trip to Venice Karl became obsessed with Venetian boats, not the gondolas that tourists hired for excursions and we did too, but one of the smaller wooden boats, working one-man oared boats like the sandolo, pared-down gritty versions of the garish passenger vessels. He wanted to stand tall and row this boat in Lake Champlain. We happen to live right on Lake Champlain which while not the Venetian lagoon is more convenient. In Venice, Karl resisted taking official to

My path into American Sign language and the world of deafness was neither direct nor typical of the time. Although my father experienced hearing loss as he aged, deafness was off my radar throughout my childhood. Signing was not an overnight passion. In fact, it took several discreet experiences before I started the journey. My very first “real” summer job was as a driver’s education aide. During the 1960’s and 70’s, Maryland public high schools provided driver’s education tr

I was married for over fifty years and I have to admit we had some rough times, especially when one of us was unfaithful, oh the tears and screams and threats and groveling, you’d think it would be impossible to ever come back from such melodrama but no, we clung to one another in spite of betrayals and misspent hours, and the thing was, my husband adored me, even when he was angry and frustrated, always thought I was the most beautiful, the sexiest, smartest, most joyful per

The minute I wake up I know it's a hungry day. A day when I am so hungry that I try to eat myself and when that doesn't help I try to eat a stranger on the street corner. Sometimes I'll just walk into people's houses and take a bite out of their ankle. It's not enough. Still hungry — in this case — for pretty things that I can take home and tuck inside my drawers and closets. Things that belong to me and no one can take away from me, ever. Luckily, I live in America, where ta

May, 2010 My husband, Rich and I were riding our bikes along the Inner Mongolia, Hohhot Ring Road, when he noticed his front tire was flat. We had travelled a number of miles from Rich’s University apartment. Though he knew where we were, I was lost and somewhat unnerved. How would we get back? I had been visiting Rich for the first time since he started teaching at the Inner Mongolia Normal University (IMNU) 5 years before. Each of these years, for one semester, he taught wr

By Janet Smith - the inexperienced grandmother It was an innocent purchase at a neighborhood garage sale. Just $5 for a faded and somewhat battered toy lawnmower that captivated a 20 month-old little boy. The other grandmother said “no, it’s broken, see?” But the boy would not be deterred. The offer of “Creemees” was insufficient to distract him from this purchase. He would have it or nothing. The less experienced grandmother caved and bought it and the little boy triumphan

I remember Benjamin, the smartest dog in the world and also the freest spirit imaginable, offspring of a big black lab, Mikey, and a little white terrier who was named Isaiah even though she was a girl, this being the '70's when hippies named their dogs and children randomly without much reference to gender. Mikey and Isaiah lived next door to one another and flirted desperately, all of us in the commune knew they were fated to make beautiful music together. Benjamin was one

“Out of the night when the full moon is bright, comes a horseman known as Zorro!”

One of my earliest memories was playing in the basement of my grandfather’s house. There were many old toys and curious objects from my mother’s childhood. By then they were quaintly old fashioned, but always fascinating to play with whenever we visited. However, the jewel of this basement playground was the magnificent old Victrola and the collection of records from an earlier age. The “Victor Talking Machine” was the first popular sound recording devise. My grandfather

I hadn’t realized the Gulf Coast gets so steamy hot. I take off my shoes, sweating and squinting in the sun. Karl’s pale Nordic skin is getting flushed. We’re standing at the end of a pier looking out into Lemon Bay, holding between us a shopping bag from Fresh Direct containing four cardboard cartons filled with the crematorium ashes of our parents. We’ve collected them over the years, one after another. They are identical, having been produced by the same funeral home

Although only one day past the winter solstice, the sun was setting in the mid afternoon. It was that day, the Friday before Christmas 1988, when the phone rang. “Gail, it’s for you,” Rich said. A woman’s voice on the other end of the phone identified herself as a social worker at Mary Fletcher Hospital in Burlington. “I work in labor and delivery,” she said. “We have a patient whose baby is due sometime next week. The mom-to-be is hearing, but the dad is deaf. The American S

In May 1998, our eldest son had just finished his first year of college and I decided to buy flowers to celebrate his homecoming. While checking out with a simple but cheery bouquet that said “Congratulations!” a giant jar sitting on the counter caught my eye. Taped on the glass was a note in large letters “RAFFLE! Support your local charity.” Donating to a good cause with the added possibility of winning a prize is an easy sell for me despite my never having won anything. I