Barb Dukeman
Bio
After 32 years of teaching high school English, I've started writing again and loving every minute of it. I enjoy bringing ideas to life and the concept of leaving behind a legacy.
Stories (114/0)
That's Not What You Think It Is
We were at a fancy sushi restaurant. I, never having had sushi, had picked out an entree with an exotic name; Pink Lady, Passion Luck, or something like that. I admired the decor of the room, a mix of Asian cultures wrapped into a riot of colors, birds, and dark wood. I had both chopsticks and silverware to choose from. The food was delivered quickly.
By Barb Dukeman22 days ago in Fiction
A Lifetime in a Minute
His name flashes on the giant screen, a photo taken from the granite monument outside the capitol. His widow takes the hand of their 7-year-old daughter, too young to fully comprehend the truth of this moment. They are flanked by uniforms she knew well, crisp and polished, white gloves gently touching her shoulder. Men and women with somber faces, leaders and guest speakers, are up on the dais watching the ceremony. Cameras all around capture this for posterity.
By Barb Dukeman22 days ago in Fiction
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 Dukeman3 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 Dukeman3 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 Dukeman3 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 Dukeman3 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 Dukeman3 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 Dukeman3 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 Dukeman3 months ago in Fiction