<![CDATA[Relatively Minor]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.comhttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!xVbF!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F0780f5f2-58b0-48e4-91d2-e74969bc5bb3_1000x1000.pngRelatively Minorhttps://relativelyminor.substack.comSubstackThu, 18 Jun 2026 13:59:30 GMT<![CDATA[A Very Long Word]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-very-long-wordhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-very-long-wordWed, 17 Jun 2026 00:38:25 GMTInterested in different genres of writing, I took a ‘stanza’ and decided to try my hand at poetry. Inspired right away, I signed up for Poetry Potluck’s monthly email, created by two professional poets. Each month, they feature a random list of words and require you to use at least five of them in your poem. It sounded simple enough! Surely, a little rhythm and rhyme could shape an expressive idea through creative writing.

Looking through the list, familiar words appeared — drink, meatloaf, and mud. But after turning the page, disbelief set in: pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis sat at the top. Not only was it impossible to pronounce (Hooked on Phonics worked for me), but keeping all those letters on the page was a feat in itself. The word was so long that the vowels nearly toppled off the edge.

Credit AI for the illustration.

Always ready for a good challenge, the next hurdle was obvious: find something that rhymes with that nineteen-syllable monstrosity. Meatloaf wouldn’t cut it, and mud didn’t even come close. A few drinks might be necessary just to brainstorm a rhyme for that one.

Google offered suggestions: cosa nervosa, nodosa, mimosa, mucosa, granulosa, samosa, aeruginosa, and submucosa. After reading that list, survival itself felt questionable. A doctor, and perhaps a prescription, might be required. That’s simply too many ‘osa’s for one bloodstream!

Then a childhood memory surfaced: Mary Poppins insisting, “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.”

Perhaps supercalifragilisticexpialidocious was exactly what was needed. It might be a bit ferocious and carry a slight risk of thrombosis, but smaller doses could make tackling pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis possible.

Now the real challenge remains, finding something that rhymes with mud.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[Here's the Scoop]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/heres-the-scoophttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/heres-the-scoopWed, 10 Jun 2026 00:50:22 GMTIce cream is a frozen dessert that makes the perfect topping on a slice of pie. However, eating it too fast can cause a brain freeze—and when spoken too quickly, it sounds like an emotional cry. Wintersetonians can’t get enough of this velvety, creamy treat. They will stand in line day and night for a taste of soft-serve ice cream. The small building with a red roof—behind the sign of a kid eating a cone—sits on the corner of East Green Street and John Wayne Drive. Though it can only accommodate a small staff, its size doesn’t stop it from attracting a large crowd.

Here’s the scoop: chocolate and vanilla cones are popular from mid-spring through late fall. Double dipping is highly encouraged—it just takes more licks, that’s all. Sundaes aren’t limited to weekends; they can be enjoyed any day of the week. Multiple scoops of ice cream, topped with sauce, whipped cream, and nuts, make for a scrumptious treat. And if you want to take your taste buds on a flavorful adventure, don’t forget to add some sprinkles.

This paragraph may not be about the weather, but their Cyclones will surely take you for a spin. You can start with a simple ice cream and add ingredients to create a wild mix. If you’re not in the mood for something so adventurous, perhaps a shake would be a better choice.

The sundry also offers a few frozen novelties if you’re tired of having a float or a slush. I have never had a monkey tail, though it sounds like something that would make a banana split. In honor of Thanksgiving, even turkeys could order a drumstick.

Since reopening in the middle of May, Frostee’s has once again drawn a steady stream of locals eager for their favorite treat.
I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[A Tale of Two Seniors ]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-tale-of-two-seniorshttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-tale-of-two-seniorsWed, 03 Jun 2026 02:12:26 GMTI recently attended the graduation ceremony for our local high school seniors, where they celebrated their academic achievements by receiving diplomas. Ironically, I, too, am a senior, though it’s been nearly 50 years since I stood on a similar stage.

smiling woman slightly covering face with mortar board
Photo by Spencer Russell on Unsplash

I prefer the term senior. It sounds much better than being called old or, worse, an elder. Actually, “old” even sounds better than “elder,” because “elder” makes you seem significantly older. “Old” suggests you’re just beginning that long, gentle descent toward “over the hill.” “Elder,” on the other hand, feels like you’ve already reached the bottom, popped the cork, and are convincing yourself you’re aging like a fine wine.

It’s funny how one word can have so many meanings. I’m sure these newly minted academic seniors don’t struggle much with memory, unless, of course, they’ve been told to clean their room. When it’s not spic-and-span in a day or two, they can simply say they forgot. Meanwhile, I, a more experienced senior, deal with short-term memory loss. “Now…what were we talking about?”

Graduates can look forward to a bright future as they open the door to new beginnings. Their lives are just starting as they head toward college and future careers. When I open the door, it’s more like “age before beauty.” Although I do appreciate that seniors still respect their elders, there’s that word again, even if they don’t realize I’m well into my second childhood.

I applaud and respect the seniors who made it through high school in this age of “smart” technology. I’ve always heard that if you have a problem with your computer, just call a ten-year-old. The other day, I pushed the button on the TV remote… and the garage door opened.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[Life Is a Roller Coaster, Even If You Stay Grounded]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/life-is-a-roller-coaster-even-ifhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/life-is-a-roller-coaster-even-ifWed, 27 May 2026 01:19:06 GMTThere are always ups and downs. Things can shift in the blink of an eye, and it’s only natural to feel uneasy about what might be waiting just around the corner. Just when you think you’ve finally got it all figured out, everything has a way of turning upside down. And when it does, trust that you’re being guided in the right direction and that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Because sometimes life feels like a roller coaster, and we are simply along for the ride.

So when Iowa’s largest amusement park opened, I had to go. Not to ride the rides at my age (let’s just say I’ve long since exceeded the speed limit), but to photograph the variety of people who pay a hefty admission fee, stand side-by-side in endless lines, and eventually find themselves wedged and strapped into a tiny car among friends or strangers, all for a brief adrenaline rush.

Climbing vertically one hundred and thirty-three feet into the sky, easing over the edge to pause for the briefest second at the very top, then plunging straight downward, hearts in their stomachs, as everything changes in an instant.

Climbing vertically one hundred and thirty-three feet into the sky. Photo captured safely from the ground by me.

Screaming at the top of their lungs, hands raised, catching their breath only long enough to be whipped upside down and right side up five times, left dangling headfirst without warning, much like those moments that catch us off guard.

Then racing through banked curves, twisting turns, stall loops, and corkscrews, each one faster than the last, until they’re speeding at sixty-five miles per hour, caught somewhere between fear and exhilaration, completely at the mercy of the ride.

Watching from behind the lens, I couldn’t help but notice how quickly fear turned to laughter once the ride slowed and the bar lifted. Smiles replaced screams, and just like that, they were ready to do it all over again. As for me, I’ll keep my feet firmly on the ground, my camera in hand, and my speed safely under the limit. After all, some rides are better watched than ridden.

www.wintersetmadisonian

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[The Great Backyard Stakeout]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-great-backyard-stakeouthttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-great-backyard-stakeoutWed, 20 May 2026 01:10:42 GMTDaisy caught a squirrel over the weekend after what felt like endless hours stationed at her post beside the French door, lying in wait and peering through the bottom panes like a watchful guard. That door, with its white wooden grid, three squares across the top and five marching down, stands as the only barrier between her and the wild kingdom just beyond in the backyard.

Just to clarify, in case you were confused, Daisy is not a flower fresh from my garden bed, although I suppose it could be possible for a perennial to trip a tree rat with its roots. No, she is my Aussiedoodle. Despite her name, which means innocence and new beginnings, she definitely has a mind of her own.

Daisy isn’t alone in her quest. Our tri-color Australian Shepherd, Madison, often joins her, scanning the grass for any movement. When the two of them spot a squirrel making its way along the top of the fence, it’s not a quiet affair. Madison barks out a high-pitched alarm, as if someone stepped on her toe, followed by Daisy chiming in, both of them sounding like they’re auditioning for a duet.

The dogs barked and squealed at each other (Thanks AI)

You might think they would immediately sprint toward the door after their victim, but no. Instead, they whirl around each other, barking and spinning in circles like they’ve lost their minds.

Maybe it’s me who doesn’t understand. This isn’t a rain dance, even though we’ve had plenty of rain lately. It’s their way of telling us to open the door and let them out. “Who let the dogs out?” you ask. Well, my husband finally did, and it was all fun and games until the unfortunate news arrived: the squirrel had crossed over the rainbow bridge.

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[Momma Said Jump!]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/momma-said-jumphttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/momma-said-jumpTue, 19 May 2026 22:52:43 GMTWe recently paid tribute to the women who raised us on Mother’s Day, recognizing the care they give to their families and communities. They have given us life, love us unconditionally, sacrifice their own needs, teach us right from wrong, comfort us, celebrate our successes, encourage us to chase our dreams, and create a safe place to call home.

Now imagine you’re a young squirrel in a tree-filled neighborhood. Your mother has taught you to stay alert, watch the ground for cats, and watch the sky for predators. If startled, dash to the nearest tree. If a predator gets too close, freeze like a statue. Learn which trees offer the best cover and the safest escape routes, and always look both ways before crossing the street. Hide your nuts carefully, flick your tail to warn others of danger, and stay aware of your surroundings.

Mother knows best, and she’s given you the basics to keep you safe. But on a sunny day with a mild breeze, you begin to question her methods. She gathers you and your siblings for what feels like an expedition, up, down, and around the trees, until you reach the highest branch, about twenty feet up, with two dogs roaming the yard below. She tells you to jump, trusting you’ll land on the highest branch of the tree on the other side.

Momma makes the leap effortlessly. Your brother and sister follow, one after the other.

But you’re not so sure. You hesitate, looking for another option, maybe stairs, maybe an elevator, some way to get down, hit the ground running, and scamper up the other trunk. Panic sets in. You dart up and down the tree again, searching for another route when something catches your eye. Squirrel. Just long enough to lose focus. You shake it off and keep moving, but your heart is racing even faster. Then, without overthinking it, you spread your arms in Hail Mary fashion. Your short life flashes before your eyes …

(AI generated image)

… and somehow, heart pounding, breath held, you find yourself clinging to the branch beside them on the other side.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[The Throne of Uncertainty ]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-throne-of-uncertaintyhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-throne-of-uncertaintyWed, 13 May 2026 01:38:26 GMTWhen you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Using the bathroom isn’t exactly a highlight of anyone’s day, but it’s a universal experience. Charmin has made it its mission to convince us to “enjoy the go,” promising cushiony softness and warning that cheaper brands leave us with…unfinished business. Their commercials make the point clear, especially the one featuring a baby bear who discovers that bargain toilet paper leaves his backside covered in fuzzy little remnants. Definitely not the kind of paperwork anyone wants to file.

These days, in the age of smart technology, we rely on our phones, watches, and assistants like Alexa and Siri to guide our decisions, answer our questions, and keep life running smoothly. So why should taking care of business be any different? We’re smart enough to know when to sit down, and supposedly, toilets are smart enough to know when we’re done. But are they really?

How many times have you stood up, adjusted your clothing, and paused, waiting to see if the toilet would follow through? Life brings enough anxiety without wondering whether some unsuspecting stranger is about to inherit your…unfinished project. Sometimes I find myself waving my hand behind the bowl like I’m conducting an orchestra, trying to reset the motion sensor and cue the grand finale. Other times, the toilet gets a little too enthusiastic, flushing three times before I’ve even finished getting dressed, as if it’s giving me a standing ovation.

white toilet paper roll on white toilet bowl
Photo by Earl Wilcox on Unsplash

And let’s not forget those suspiciously low toilets, the ones that make you feel like you’re about to drop into another dimension. More than once, I’ve nearly flattened the Ty-D-Bol man (yes, that little guy in the boat from the classic commercials), because the seat was so low I thought I was preparing for reentry rather than for relief. At that point, it’s less “taking care of business” and more “brace for impact.”

In the end, maybe the real issue isn’t whether we can “enjoy the go,” but whether modern technology can just let us go in peace.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[It’s about time!]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/its-about-timehttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/its-about-timeTue, 05 May 2026 23:32:45 GMTOnce upon a time, I used to have time. Now I don’t have any time at all. Not enough seconds in my minutes, not enough minutes in my hour, not enough hours in the day, or days in the week.

Even Alice’s White Rabbit in Wonderland, attired in a stylish vest and blazer, was pressed for time. Focused on the pocket-sized timepiece in his furry paw, he hurriedly passed by, muttering constantly, “I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!” Not to worry – he was better late than never. Hopefully, he got there in the blink of an eye, just in the nick of time.

Even the White Rabbit didn’t have any time. (Adobe Stock image)

Since the crack of dawn, it’s a daily race against time to stay ahead. And just when you think you have all the time in the world, time flies. The seconds, minutes, and hours drain like sand through an hourglass. Not even the hands of time can catch the granules. It’s crunch time! You hardly have time to breathe. It’s high time to make up for lost time by calling a timeout.

Out of time? Big-time spenders can buy time. Except for good-time Charlie, he is currently doing time. As a big-time operator, not in the right place at the right time, he is now having a devil of a time. Although it would have been safer to borrow time, he now has plenty of time on his hands.

Time’s a-wastin’, and time is on your side. So once in a blue moon, take time to make up for lost time, and hit the road for some quality time. It’s about time! In your lifetime, other than noon time, take some time for downtime. Springtime playtime, during the daytime or anytime, can be dream time, even if it is only half time.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[Humpty Dumpty Revisited ]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/humpty-dumpty-revisitedhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/humpty-dumpty-revisitedTue, 28 Apr 2026 22:24:19 GMTIt was once upon a time… actually, a very, very long time ago, in my early years, when I first learned and began reciting nursery rhymes. Recently, I found myself wondering what would happen if one of those rhymes played out in this day and age, how its simplicity might crack open into something a bit more complex in the 21st century.

The rhyme begins with Humpty Dumpty, pictured as a large egg seated on a wall. Mr. Dumpty should have been more mindful of his extremely thin, white outer shell and assessed the risks of perching so close to the edge on a platform of such height. Apparently, a few eggs short of a dozen, he wasn’t thinking.

No spring chicken, his age and oval shape left him wobbly and off balance. Not an egg roll, but an accidental fall left him shell‑shocked and sunny side up in the grass. Walking on eggshells after such an egg drop, he scrambled across the lawn a little over easy, nursing a bump on his egg nog, until he finally managed to reach his cell phone and make a 911 call.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. (Illustration found on the internet)

With much egg‑citement in his voice, he attempted to tell the dispatcher where he had fallen and where he now lay. It was a bit of an egg hunt as the King’s ambulance service arrived on the scene. Noticing the broken shells, they performed an egg‑amination to see if his egg‑white level was high. One of the King’s men then spoke, telling Dumpty he had a cracked yolk and placing him in an egg ring to stabilize him.

So even the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.

After coming out of his shell, so to speak, Humpty decided to leave the nest, whisk it all behind, and move to Whiskconsin to open a whisk management business. There, he now counsels overly egg‑cited clients, advising them to live life over‑easy and sunny‑side up, because living on the edge to reach new heights might not be all it’s cracked up to be.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

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]]><![CDATA[Detour Diary]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/detour-diaryhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/detour-diaryWed, 22 Apr 2026 00:51:38 GMTThe road less traveled offered an unexpected adventure one morning, and a quick glance at my watch assured me that time was on my side. I took the fastest route out of town, heading southeast, determined to photograph an eighth-grade class participating in a community clean-up project.

As I set my cruise control to avoid exceeding the speed limit, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted a neon orange D.O.T. diamond sign on the right side of the road. The big black letters warned of an upcoming closure … on the very roadway I needed to travel, where construction workers clad in neon yellow were scattered around the bridge I had to cross. In that moment, I felt like Alice in Wonderland’s White Rabbit, shouting, “I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!”

(Google Image)

Desperate, I decided to follow a vehicle onto a nearby gravel road, hoping the driver knew the back way to my destination. As a dust storm enveloped me, I disengaged the cruise control and sped up, trailing the vehicle I hoped would guide me. When my intuition nudged me to turn in a different direction, I left the other driver in my dust. Thankfully, my internal GPS didn’t let me down, and I found the road I needed.

My journey continued through a tiny town until a stop at a stop sign gave me a chance to read another neon orange diamond sign warning of yet another upcoming closure on the very road I needed to traverse. Luck seemed to be against me, as yet another team of brightly-attired construction workers was busy on THAT bridge, too!

Determined, I flagged down a man on a John Deere garden tractor and asked for directions. Following his guidance, I went back through the same tiny town. After simultaneously taking two left turns, I navigated a country roller coaster of steep slopes and tight turns for miles. Siri repeatedly begged me to “proceed to the route.” At one point, I almost tossed my phone out the window and told her to just “proceed to the route” already!

Finally, my seemingly eternal road trip came to an end as I entered town. I had never been so happy to see pavement in my life! It was clear: I had spent way too much time on the road less traveled.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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Relatively Minor is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

EVENT ALERT - IT’S THIS WEEK! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23 and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24.

Links for paid subscribers to RSVP for the Weary Ramblers April 23: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/weary-ramblers-live-in-the-mermaid-room

Link to RSVP for the Hootenanny at Byrons on April 24: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/inaugural-iwc-hootenanny-at-legendary-byrons

]]><![CDATA[Drama with a Capital D ]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/drama-with-a-capital-dhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/drama-with-a-capital-dTue, 14 Apr 2026 23:31:41 GMTThese days, life doesn’t just have drama; it has drama with a capital D. Intense, emotional, and unexpected moments unfold without warning, leaving us laughing, crying, or shaking our heads in disbelief. I remember a time when my favorite drama, General Hospital, aired at a predictable hour, playing out on television as a daily soap opera. Even as a youngster, I was captivated by the show’s interpersonal dynamics, melodrama, and unexpected twists. The story unfolded at such a leisurely pace that it took an entire week to reach a cliffhanger, leaving me on the edge of my seat all weekend until the next episode aired on Monday.

Apparently, soap opera drama didn’t disappear, it just changed locations. During a recent trip to Dollar General, I was unexpectedly pulled into a real-life drama of my own as I approached the checkout with my selected items. I found myself standing next to another female customer near the front of the store, both of us gazing upward toward the ceiling behind the cash register. There, two DG employees were locked in an ongoing struggle with a helium balloon decorated like a soccer ball, chosen to celebrate a child’s birthday, and the only one in the store.

Mylar balloon with a mind of its own, floating freely up to the ceiling.

With no strings attached, literally, the mylar balloon floated freely along the ceiling tiles in that one section of the store, stubbornly refusing capture. The employees made repeated attempts to reach it using a clip attached to a long stick, not unlike the business end of a mop. The harder they tried, the more determined the balloon seemed to become, drifting just out of reach as if it knew exactly what it was doing. The suspense was palpable. It was so intense that I nearly broke a sweat just standing there, watching the drama unfold.

Who would win? Would the staff finally overpower the balloon and reclaim it? Would the customer surrender and shop elsewhere? Would she abandon the balloon altogether and settle for another gift?

And just like that, I was forced to leave the scene. I’ll never know how it ended because real life intervened and I had to return to work, leaving the balloon drama unresolved and its fate forever hanging in the air.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative and the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat Collaborative!

Here is a link to learn more about our Iowa Writer’s Collaborative writers.

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** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23 and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24.

Links for paid subscribers to RSVP for the Weary Ramblers April 23: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/weary-ramblers-live-in-the-mermaid-room

Link to RSVP for the Hootenanny at Byrons on April 24: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/inaugural-iwc-hootenanny-at-legendary-byrons

]]><![CDATA[Gone With the Wind Chimes]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/gone-with-the-wind-chimeshttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/gone-with-the-wind-chimesTue, 07 Apr 2026 23:12:07 GMT“The dandelions are here,” one parishioner announced confidently as he admired the suddenly green grass outside the church after Easter services on Sunday. His observation reminded me that I hadn’t taken time to plant mine yet. I’m often a day late and a dollar short, especially when it comes to yard work.

This is also the season when I start imagining flowers that might make our house stand out from the neighboring yards. While I usually rely on a few volunteer tulips, every spring tempts me to try something new. That enthusiasm, however, is quickly tempered by memories of last year, when the eight tiger lilies I absolutely had to have, and my husband planted on his hands and knees, refused to escape their grassy cages and bloom. Underwhelming, to say the least. And then there was the one that didn’t survive its encounter with the lawnmower, which, depending on who you ask, was either a tragic accident or an act of mercy.

Determined to avoid disappointment this year, I’m focusing on whirly gigs and wind chimes. Less maintenance, fewer dashed expectations. The trip to purchase these wind‑driven garden ornaments, however, was a story in itself.

Choosing a whirly gig turned out to be more complicated than expected. One does not simply pick a whirly gig; one must consider its level of whirl, its dedication to gig‑ing, and whether its particular brand of whimsy leans cheerful or chaotic. I studied confident whirly gigs, hesitant ones, and one overly ambitious model that seemed destined to launch into another dimension. In the end, I chose the one that didn’t try too hard, content to whirl when the wind allowed and behave when it didn’t.

Wind chimes require just the right dings and dongs for good music. (Thanks AI for the illustration)

Choosing a wind chime allowed for more experimentation. I gently clanked pieces together in the aisle, testing dings and dongs like an amateur conductor. Some rang bright and eager; others answered with low, serious dongs. Trying not to draw attention, I listened for balance rather than volume and chose the chime whose sounds seemed willing to cooperate once the wind took over.

Remaining anonymous was easy until I had to carry the wind chimes from the back of the store to the checkout. Walking slowly and barely breathing did nothing to muffle the music that followed me down every aisle. The young man at the register smiled kindly and informed me I would not be receiving a commission for demonstrating the merchandise.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23 and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24.

Links for paid subscribers to RSVP for the Weary Ramblers April 23: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/weary-ramblers-live-in-the-mermaid-room

Link to RSVP for the Hootenanny at Byrons on April 24: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/inaugural-iwc-hootenanny-at-legendary-byrons

]]><![CDATA[If A Camel Says ‘Happy Hump Day’, Walk Away Slowly ]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/if-a-camel-says-happy-hump-day-walkhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/if-a-camel-says-happy-hump-day-walkTue, 31 Mar 2026 21:47:02 GMTA wise person once said, “’Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.” Keeping that in mind, the first of April might feel eerily quiet for some and quite chaotic for others, especially for those who are a bit too trusting. After all, it’s April Fool’s Day, the one day of the year that practically demands a healthy dose of skepticism. On this day, we’re encouraged to question everything, especially if something seems a bit off or too bizarre to be real.

Traditionally, it’s the day set aside for pulling pranks on friends, family, coworkers, and even unsuspecting strangers just trying to go about their day. So, a word of caution: believe only half of what you see and absolutely none of the texts you get before noon. Even the most innocent messages, like “Can you swing by my office for a minute?” should be approached with caution, maybe even with a witness, just in case.

This year, April 1 conveniently falls on Hump Day, which is fitting since Wednesday is right in the middle of the workweek. At the start of the week, everyone seems fairly composed, but by the time Wednesday arrives, some people might start acting a little silly. When I hear “Hump Day,” I can’t help but think of that quirky desert animal known for its two distinctive humps.

A camel smoking a cigarette on a Wednesday (Thanks AI)

So, if I happened to see a camel leisurely walking down the street in the middle of the week, casually smoking a cigarette, I would not be bothered. And if, before crossing the street, it paused to check a smart watch awkwardly strapped to its leg and muttered, “Ten thousand steps before noon,” I’d assume it was just trying to get some exercise. But the moment that camel flicked away the cigarette, turned its head toward me, and cheerfully said, “Happy Hump Day,” I’d realize I’d been caught up in a classic April Fool’s joke.

At that point, I’d probably just nod, wish it well, and continue on my way.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23 and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24.

Links for paid subscribers to RSVP for the Weary Ramblers April 23: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/weary-ramblers-live-in-the-mermaid-room

Link to RSVP for the Hootenanny at Byrons on April 24: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/inaugural-iwc-hootenanny-at-legendary-byrons

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]]><![CDATA[Sixteen Seeds of Madness]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/sixteen-seeds-of-madnesshttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/sixteen-seeds-of-madnessTue, 24 Mar 2026 21:38:56 GMT

It’s not really Spring Fever, even though spring has officially arrived. What we see goes far beyond that. This is pure chaos, a total departure from logic and common sense. In Iowa, this madness shows up as passionate basketball fans from two major universities caught up in the exhilarating frenzy of March Madness. It turns into shared, exaggerated excitement, wildly irrational by any normal standard, a spectacle so irresistible that people happily pay top dollar just to be part of it.

Okay, maybe it feels a bit spring-like.

Because it all starts with seeds. Sixteen of them.

Some seeds prove stronger than others, so they play a game to determine a winner and a loser. Cinderella, the underdog, just like in the fairy tale, prays her seeding proves worthy. If she survives, she moves out of the anonymity of the first round of 64 on Selection Sunday and suddenly gains attention, transforming into a beautiful Sweet 16. Thanks to a buzzer-beater, she advances again, becoming one of the Elite Eight.

Will Cinderella make it to the big dance? (Image AI generated)

Heading closer to the big dance as part of the Final Four, she might lose her ruby slipper. But from downtown, under a full-court press, she makes three very valid points for why she should still be allowed to dance. She survives. She advances. And at long last, she joins the others, scissors in hand, cutting down the nets.

I once heard a song that said, “Fairy tales can come true; it can happen to you.” Of course, it all depends on how the ball bounces.

And the best part? It isn’t over. Both teams keep playing, keep moving forward, and give us just enough hope to derail whatever logic we have left. We whisper analysis with confidence, knock on wood, change sweatshirts, and refuse to tempt fate. Madness, after all, isn’t something we conclude; it’s something we live with, at least until the final buzzer tells us whether this fairy tale ends with confetti or a very quiet drive home.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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Relatively Minor is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23 and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24.

Links for paid subscribers to RSVP for the Weary Ramblers April 23: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/weary-ramblers-live-in-the-mermaid-room

Link to RSVP for the Hootenanny at Byrons on April 24: https://www.albrightspark.com/event-details/inaugural-iwc-hootenanny-at-legendary-byrons

]]><![CDATA[A Penny For My Thoughts, While They Last]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-penny-for-my-thoughts-while-theyhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-penny-for-my-thoughts-while-theyTue, 17 Mar 2026 22:57:30 GMTA Penny For My Thoughts, While They Last

I believe I have good common sense and practical, intuitive judgment, which help me make sound decisions in daily life. This includes simple actions like looking both ways before crossing the street to avoid being hit by a vehicle, rather than assuming cars will stop. Unfortunately, as evidenced by local squirrels lying motionless in the road, they haven’t quite grasped this concept yet. It also means carrying an umbrella when the forecast calls for rain, although in Iowa, the weather can change in just five minutes, so you might as well bring along a snow shovel, too. Except on a windy day, like many we’ve had recently, and then who knows what the weather will be like in Kansas? Better bring your little dog, Toto, too.

By the way, the U.S. Treasury stopped producing pennies in late 2025 and into early 2026, which, in my book, doesn’t make any “cents.” Without new production, pennies will gradually disappear from circulation, and cash transactions will be rounded to the nearest five cents. It also looks like I won’t be sharing my opinion anytime soon if I can’t give my “two cents’ worth.” And I certainly won’t be offering much encouragement if I can’t give someone a “penny for their thoughts”, which, these days, might cost a pretty penny but still be worth every cent. After all, a penny saved is a penny earned.

Life just won’t make any “cents” without the penny (AI generated image)

With an estimated 114 to 250 billion pennies already in circulation, it may take more than a day or two before we never see a penny again. Still, it must be some kind of mathematical miracle to make purchases using exact change. I also worry about the mental well-being of piggy banks everywhere, whose sole purpose in life is to house the loose change we collect from our purchases. Sure, we can hoard our nickels, dimes, and quarters, but life just won’t make any “cents” without the penny, Honest Abe!

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23, and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24. Details to follow.

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]]><![CDATA[A Matter of Time]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-matter-of-timehttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/a-matter-of-timeTue, 10 Mar 2026 23:45:34 GMTLast Sunday, I lost an hour and had no idea where it went. Possibly, I just forgot that I gave it up for Lent. It made me a little anxious and threw my day off track. Maybe it was led astray or had fallen through a crack. I kinda miss that single hour, those 60 minutes I lack. Hopefully, it’s just a matter of time before I have it back.

Had it been a senior moment, a brief period in time, it might not be so bad, and I probably wouldn’t mind. There’s no time like the present, so I asked my spouse to look, totally interrupting him as he intently read his book. Peering at me over his glasses, thinking I’d likely lost my mind — actually, he might have a point —it’s just a matter of time.

I lost an hour and have no idea where it went!

Where could that hour have gone? How could it fly away? Could it be underneath the furniture next to where the dogs usually play? My life’s extremely busy; it just doesn’t seem quite fair, also very problematic if that hour isn’t there. Some people will not notice, and others won’t even care — except when facing a deadline without even a minute to spare.

It kind of makes me wonder just where that hour went. The old phrase “time is money”... maybe those 60 minutes were already spent? I’m gazing at the clock, still trying to understand why my precious minutes weren’t caught by the first or second hand. They were systematically rotating around the face of the clock; perhaps during a minute of weakness, the hour just fell off.

Communicating it digitally were four other clocks in the house. I realized they’d been changed, apparently by my spouse. He soon explained his reasoning, so I could rest my mind — the hour that went missing was from Daylight Saving Time.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23, and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24. Details to follow.

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]]><![CDATA[The Mischief and Magic of March]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-mischief-and-magic-of-marchhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-mischief-and-magic-of-marchWed, 04 Mar 2026 00:29:25 GMTToday is March 4th—a date that feels more like a command than anything else. Say it out loud, and the calendar seems to urge you onward: march forth, nudging us to keep moving with a steady rhythm.

Among all the months, March is unique. When we shift from one month to another, we’re usually just happy to welcome a fresh set of thirty or thirty-one days, rarely stopping to consider how that month made its entrance. Did it arrive with the roar of a lion, or with the gentle whisper of a lamb nestled in green grass beneath a bright morning sun?

Rest assured: if March begins with cold, biting winds, it usually softens by the end—unless, of course, it decides to flip the script and start sweet and innocent, only to leave us grappling with the king of the jungle when the month closes.

Thankfully, we’ll “spring forward” soon enough, gaining an extra hour of sunlight to ease our minds. St. Patrick’s Day will also come to the rescue, giving us an excuse to pick up a lucky charm or perhaps even a rabbit’s foot (and won’t it be surprised), leaving us no worse for wear.

March is a fascinating month, full of surprises. Whether we’re battling the wind, adapting to unpredictable forecasts, losing an hour, or gathering good-luck tokens, we’ll manage to get through. And then comes April, cheerfully reminding us that we may not be quite as dignified as we pretend to be.

If we’re honest, there’s a good chance we’ll do something silly this month and never even realize it. But that’s the charm of March: it offers us a whole month to embrace being human, full of hope, a bit rushed, occasionally confused, so that when April gently pokes fun at our foolishness, we can simply nod and say, “Of course we are. We’ve just made our way through March.”

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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Relatively Minor is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23, and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24. Details to follow.

]]><![CDATA[The Search for the Perfect Lenten Sacrifice]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-search-for-the-perfect-lentenhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/the-search-for-the-perfect-lentenTue, 24 Feb 2026 23:41:47 GMTEvery February, just as winter overstays its welcome, I brace for Lent, the one season when people willingly give up things they actually like. And every year, I wonder: what am I willing to sacrifice?

This time around, as the season begins and people start choosing their forty‑day commitments, I found myself considering what I might give up. I’m fairly certain it won’t be apple pie; that would feel downright un‑American. It’s my favorite dessert, especially with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, another so‑called “food group” I can’t imagine giving up for over a month.

Potentially, it would be beneficial for me to give up caffeine for a month and ten days; however, that first cup of coffee is as essential as a morning sunrise. The beginning of each day just wouldn’t be the same without a warm mug of that stimulating brew.

Dryer Lint

Shopping! That’s it, I thought. I could cut down on my spending and quit using my credit card. I’m sure my husband would be pleased since he pays the bills. But honestly, I don’t think I could handle the regret of missing out on a good deal at one of my favorite retail outlets.

Then, all of a sudden, it came to me. As I was finishing another week’s worth of laundry, I reached into the dryer for the last of the warm clothes, pulled out my favorite neon orange sweatshirt, and discovered it was covered in tiny pieces of lint, again. Tired of having to manicure my apparel after every cycle, I finally decided that this year I’m giving up lint for Lent.

My focus may be a bit fuzzy, but tell me, who’s with me in giving up those tiny textile fibers that take over our garments? Here’s to a clean shirt, a smooth pair of pants, and a forty‑day challenge I might just be able to keep.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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Relatively Minor is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23, and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24. Details to follow.

]]><![CDATA[Finding Jesus in the Ladies’ Room]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/finding-jesus-in-the-ladies-roomhttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/finding-jesus-in-the-ladies-roomTue, 17 Feb 2026 23:14:13 GMT

Last Monday through Friday were enough to make one week. Packed with unexpected trials and tribulations, they wrung out what little energy I had left. Still, I climbed the steps for Sunday worship – ready to be encouraged, renew my spirit, and spend time with my church family at the little house of worship just west of the liquor store.

On this particular morning, though, I wouldn’t be taking my usual spot in the third pew on the right, even though I’m certain the rest of the congregation had already settled into their unofficially assigned seats. (Heaven forbid we mix it up.) Today, I was stepping to the podium as Worship Leader, armed with announcements, the scripture reading, and the hymn numbers neatly printed in the bulletin.

Before the service began, I ducked into the ladies’ room for a Kleenex to wipe the water from my chin after a quick drink at the fountain – and that’s when I unexpectedly felt Jesus’s presence. It’s not like I saw a vision, heard a heavenly voice, or experienced indescribable peace and joy. No, my first thought was simply: There is a man in the women’s bathroom. Divine or not, I still wasn’t sure if that was politically correct, even for the Son of God.

But there he was, in all his glory, standing on the ledge. No, not a skyscraper ledge preparing to jump, just the ledge behind the sink, to the left of the faucet, next to the large mirror. A curious place for a savior, but the perfect vantage point for watching his people wash away their sins before worship.

A little Jesus.

He was only about an inch and a half tall, but surprisingly, that tiny Jesus brought a wave of calm over me. I felt oddly reassured as I headed back toward the parlor.

Without saying a word, maybe he wanted me to remember something simple and true: sometimes you just need a little Jesus now and then.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

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Relatively Minor is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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I am a proud member of the Iowa Writer’s Collaborative.

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** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23, and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24. Details to follow.

]]><![CDATA[Heartbreak on the Countertop]]>https://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/heartbreak-on-the-countertophttps://relativelyminor.substack.com/p/heartbreak-on-the-countertopWed, 11 Feb 2026 02:27:20 GMT

I’ve been married to the same man for more than 40 years, and although we are only days away from Valentine’s Day, I have to confess that I found myself caught up in a rather unexpected affair. For the past year, there’s been another man in my life. He is the one who makes my coffee every morning. So you can imagine my shock last Thursday when I found him lying unresponsive on the kitchen counter between the can opener and a large jar of peaches I had received a couple of years ago at a White Elephant Christmas gift exchange. The strong, silent type, he wasn’t a big talker, but he was always there when I needed him. Rising before dawn, seven days a week, he kept me going, offering warmth, comfort, and a reason to get out of bed.

He was the most dependable guy I ever knew. Even though I had to push his buttons to get him to perform, he worked tirelessly, full of energy and enthusiasm, to make sure my cup runneth over. He uttered not a word while I drank from the goodness he had to offer to the last drop. Mostly a gentleman, he never got upset about anything and stayed well-grounded, remarkable for someone who relied on nothing but a paper filter. He knew how to take it easy, staying unplugged all day after I left for work.

On that fateful morning, when I was looking forward to my daily caffeine infusion, Mr. Coffee simply shut down. No warning, no explanation, no goodbye. After all our time together, not even one last brew, ha-ha. I toggled the power button in an attempt to resuscitate him, whispered encouraging words, but it seemed he had already landed on the doorstep of the Big Café in the sky.

R.I.P. Mr. Coffee, I will miss you! (Thanks AI)

The green light was on, and nobody was home. I stood with an empty mug in hand, like a character in a dramatic movie scene, and moaned, “You can’t leave me like this.”

Don’t shed a tear for me. I’ve already taken steps to rebuild my life. I have a new man in the kitchen. He’s well built, taller, stronger, and really knows how to provide. A full 12 cups, to be exact. He was an affordable upgrade, though the neighbors say I’m just on the rebound. However, after what I’ve been through, I think I deserve a little extra capacity. And so far, he’s been up to the challenge.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

“Please explore my other newsletter, Narratives and Notes on Substack, where writers and musicians share insights into how they hone their craft.”

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Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are

** Please join us for the monthly Iowa Writers’ Collaborative’s Office Lounge for paid subscribers to any member column. It’s the last Friday of every month except for November and December. Please join members of the Collaborative and other subscribers for conversation. Here is the link.

** SAVE THE DATE!! Paid subscribers are invited to join members of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative with the Weary Ramblers in Storm Lake on April 23, and our musicians Jason Walsmith, Wini Moranville, Dave Wolf, Carol Montag, Lyle Muller and Chip Albright for a jam session at Byrons in Pomeroy, on April 24. Details to follow.

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