4 comments

  1. mcullen Post author

    What I Stole by Elaine Lannert

    I plead guilty — I stole his heart and may I say I never ever had any intention of returning it. No guilt involved in this theft, only joy and happiness.

    For me it was my prized possession, so unique and special forever treasured. Stealing one’s heart requires some skill and planning. Holding onto it is even more challenging. But looking back, this hoist was a piece of cake. He came, I saw, I conquered and may I say I enjoyed it thoroughly.

    I pulled this job off without deception or charade. But once I laid eyes on this treasure, I knew I had to have it. The plan was easy. The bait I used was my own heart and I baited that hook with great enthusiasm.

    I held onto the stolen goods for as long as life would allow but eventually I had to release it.

    Never before and never after have I possessed such a lovely treasure. I still own the memories and no one can steal them away from me.

    1. mcullen Post author

      Elaine, Beautiful writing. Perfect from-the-heart writing. Thank you for sharing your writing. Marlene

  2. James Seamarsh

    It’s hard to believe I was only nine years old. But I know it’s true, because the fire was that same summer, and that summer I drove with my family from Pittsburgh to Seattle, and I saw the Seattle Word’s Fair. We didn’t go in 1962, the official year of the World’s Fair, but the summer after. So it was definitely the summer of 1963, which meant I was a nine-year-old boy, soon to become double digits.

    The summer of 1963 was also the beginning of the end of my age of innocence.

    By November 22nd, President Kennedy would be assassinated, forever changing my perception of life’s certainty. By June of the next year we would have moved to southern California, a long way from Pennsylvania, to a beach town with ocean views instead of trees, a world where innocence seemed to end earlier, a world where I spent fifth grade learning about four-square, pecking orders, and going steady, a world where I sat by the fence with a dictionary at recess as my brother and I searched for all the swear and cuss words our classmates used.

    My age of innocence may have ended in southern California in 1964, but it was well on its way to being over in Pennsylvania. It was the summer of 1963 that I stole cigarettes from the A&P grocery store while shopping with my mother.

    James Seamarsh — rediscovering his innocence after all these years

    1. mcullen Post author

      I enjoy your writing style, James. Moves along quickly and steadily . . . telling us a complete story in few words. Well-done!

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