Drugs are all around us. Many times, if we give the problem any thought at all, we brush it aside as one that affects “other people.” They live in the inner city, the ghetto, the gutter, but certainly not our own back yard. And while it’s true places like Chicago, Detroit, Kansas City, D.C., L.A., the list goes on and on, might be hubs, small town America is in no way immune. I hope that by sharing one woman’s story of addiction and recovery that others will see that they too can break the cycle of dependency.
Well, my ten-year journey in higher education is over. I graduated from Purdue University Northwest, formerly Purdue North Central, with a Bachelor of Arts. I majored in history and minored in English, specifically, Creative and Professional Writing. My final GPA was 3.91, pretty decent I’m told, enough so that had I participated in commencement I’d … Continue reading Riding and Writing Rebooted After they settled into the paddy wagon, Brenda and her companions were securely shackled hand and foot. An expanded metal divider separated low, hard benches which were arranged length wise along the van’s walls. A small window in the rear door was the only connection to the outside world. In contrast to the celebratory mood … Continue reading The Road to Rockville We live in a world where seemingly unrelated actions can have implications far beyond their place of origin. Such is the case of the global heroin trade. An article from The Week, Why is heroin so cheap? brings up interesting points as to how a conflict in one region can affect the output and … Continue reading Round and round we go I have to admit that on the subject of hard drugs and addiction I’m a total novice. Actually, for most of my life I lived in blissful ignorance. But news accounts of drug deaths across the nation, and even in the small town in which I live became hard to ignore. I began to … Continue reading What in the world did I get myself into? The woman driving the purple Saturn onto the Bishop Ford Freeway had not smiled in months. Her hair, wrapped into a bun, was the color of faded gold. It poked straw-like from the tie that tried to hold it back. Her high cheek bones sunk in. Gloss pasted a fake sheen on thin, hard lips. … Continue reading Little Black Apron
Riding and Writing Rebooted
The Road to Rockville
Round and round we go
What in the world did I get myself into?
Little Black Apron