Category Archives: The Formative Years

Slain, Explained

Posted on March 12, 2017 by Stacey

I’m standing at the front of the church with about fifty other people. We’re lined up shoulder to shoulder, stretched from one side of the church to the other. It’s not just a regular run-of-the-mill service. There’s a guest speaker … Continue reading →

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husband socks

Posted on July 3, 2016 by Stacey

When I was little, I wanted to marry a horse. Specifically, a little white pony named Snowball that I rode every Friday during an hour-long lesson at the Windy Hill Riding Academy in Library, PA. It didn’t matter that Snowball … Continue reading →

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the most prolific act of my senior year

Posted on March 27, 2016 by Stacey

I’d been dreaming about the prom for years. It all sounded so romantic: the dress! the moonlight! the hot date!  It was like a Wedding Junior.  So when I transferred to a small Christian school for my senior year, I hit … Continue reading →

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(just gonna) stand there and watch me burn

Posted on October 23, 2011 by Stacey

Show and Tell, according to Wikipedia, is the process of showing an audience something and telling them about it, and is usually done in a classroom as an early elementary school technique for teaching young children the skills of public … Continue reading →

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little ditty about Craig and Diane …

Posted on April 17, 2011 by Stacey

Growing up as a family of six, we did a lot of things together, but some things were harder to do completely together than others. White Water Rafting, for example, was a problem to do completely together, since only four … Continue reading →

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blind man’s bluff

Posted on February 23, 2011 by Stacey

One of the games we played when we were little was called “Blind Man.” One person would put on a blindfold and then the rest of us would lead him around the yard by the arms and get him into … Continue reading →

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the great sewage disaster of 1969

Posted on January 16, 2011 by Stacey

I wasn’t a stupid child. I didn’t stick marbles in my nose, or forks into electrical sockets, and I didn’t write on walls with crayons.  For all my faults (conniving, ultra-serious, unpleasant, etc), I wasn’t a dummy. I would never … Continue reading →

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