All Posts By Jennifer Wheelock

For Better of Worse

It was a Sunday when the new recliner flew off the Ford, Daddy having failed to latch the tailgate before he roared onto the southbound,...

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By Any Means Necessary

My mother’s hair was high in the sixties, beehive style. A social climber, she secured invitations to every ritzy...

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To the Man in the White Honda

I can’t comb the phone book or look online for your info, our brush so brief and fraught with drama there was no time for niceties like...

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