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Barb Dukeman
Bio
An English teacher by trade, I’ve spent 32+ years in the classroom, instilling a love of literature (and a tolerance of writing) in my students. I started reading at the age of three and started writing at 13 with a poem about green socks.
Stories (122/0)
A Dragon at the Gym
My personal trainer, Carrie, has me focus on how much weight I can handle at one time as she counts sets and reps. This is a different concept for me; I like the safety and comfort of a simple countdown. This tests me on a different level: it’s me against myself. Can I do two more? Yes, I can. I realize, though, that sometimes I don’t know how much I can truly handle. She usually waits until I click-hiss like a cat or make a high-pitched squeaky noise, which is my version of grunting and saying I’ve hit a wall.
By Barb Dukeman4 months ago in Motivation
The Anniversary Waltz
The morning haze of June 10, 1994, was particularly tiring for Shelley. Two months of pregnancy have started taking its toll, from the dreaded morning sickness to the backache that no Tylenol could kill. Taking it easy around the house, a restless Shelley figured today was just going to be another typical hot summer day. Mark, who started work earlier in the day, came home early, catching her off guard.
By Barb Dukeman4 months ago in Families
Love Still Makes Our World Turn
Peeling apart the layers, love can come through looking unrecognizable, not like the puppy love we felt in middle school. Through time love can morph into thousands of facets, a shiny diamond at times, and an ugly rock at others. It has the same elements, but like physical matter has different states, love has different forms also. It often starts with butterflies.
By Barb Dukeman4 months ago in Marriage
Maternal Instinct
Birth alone does not a mother make. Those maternal feelings of love aren’t instantly there as we’ve seen in the movies. Weepy moms after 2 minutes of movie labor (and spritzed with pure water sweat) hugging and crying on their perfectly clean newborn were all lies. I supposed if movies depicted true births, the human race would have died off by now. After twenty-two hours of labor with no epidural, my son was born; he was cleaned by the nurses, wrapped up, and set on my stomach. I remember looking at him thinking, “So. Hello, you.” And then I told the nurse to get him off me because my stomach hurt from relentless labor.
By Barb Dukeman4 months ago in Families
A Mother's Love
I had just flown in that morning from Washington. ~ My mother’s recovery at the nursing home was slow, but it was still progressing and her health was improving. I felt that the trip I’d planned almost a year ago to see a friend would be ok. Mom was ok with it; my brother and aunt would be able to visit each day. I was at a northeastern tribal art exhibit in Vancouver with my friend John when I got the call.
By Barb Dukeman4 months ago in Families
Snowball Fight
He knew snow would be cold, but not that cold. Tom envisioned snow to be more like the white ice inside the freezer. His first time experiencing winter up north took him by surprise: his breath visible, wet socks, and layers of outerwear became more uncomfortable as the days wore on.
By Barb Dukeman5 months ago in Fiction
Dancing Shoes
On New Year’s Eve in 1965, her parents were most likely at a local dance club, socializing, drinking, and most importantly, dancing the night away. Her father was a Ricky Ricardo look-alike, and her mom, with her bouffant up-do and elegant cigarette holder in her hand, was a classic beauty. Later that month, stars still sparkling in their eyes, a baby girl was conceived. It was there, I believe, I found where I would dedicate my being.
By Barb Dukeman5 months ago in Fiction
Dashing through the snow
“Dashing through the snow” is not as comfortable as it sounds. It was on my bucket list, so we decided to try it out. We called a local place that took people on sleigh rides, and the price was right. The ground, however, did not contain “a drifted bank.” It was white, but that’s about it.
By Barb Dukeman5 months ago in Fiction
Band of Gold
Sometimes you were just a few feet away from me. I was always there, right where you tucked me away three years ago. I remember the day, too. It was frightfully cold inside and out, snowing and icy, and you wanted to go snow tubing with the family. You looked at me, still faithfully around the ring finger on your left hand. The cold made your finger feel smaller, and you were so afraid of losing me on the snow slopes. You slid me off your finger and stashed me away in a pocket of some sort. I thought it was a purse or a coat. I heard the zipper.
By Barb Dukeman5 months ago in Fiction
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