Monthly Archives: March 2026

WINGSPREAD Zine for March, 2026


Spreading your wings in a Perplexing world
March 2026                  James P. Hurd

Please forward and share this zine with others. Thank you.

The world is a strange, beautiful, mysterious and sometimes disappointing place. This zine is dedicated to that mystery.

Contents

  • Writer’s Corner
  • Blessed Unbeliever 
  • This month’s story:
  • This month’s puzzler:
  • WINGSPREAD Ezine subscription information
  • Wisdom

Writer’s Corner

Dedicated to the world of words and the people who write them.

Want to browse archived WINGSPREAD stories? Click under “archives” at https://jimhurd.com/   These stories include memoirs, stories about my fundamentalist childhood, bush flying, personal essays and other topics. You can type keywords in the “search” function.

Here are a few samples:

“Why Do I Make Stupid Mistakes?” https://jimhurd.com/?s=stupid+mistakes

“The Snow Sermon” https://jimhurd.com/?s=snow+sermon

“Identity Crisis” (Who am I?) https://jimhurd.com/?s=identity

Writer’s tip: Practice the pause. Set your piece aside for a couple of weeks; then come back to it with fresh eyes and ideas.

Word of the Month: LOOKSMAXXING.
Majoring on hair, skin, clothes—striving for “the look.”

.Metaphor of the month: “He’s the kind of man that destiny had a serious grudge against.”

Digital resources: If you have a question about your writing—character development, plot, paragraphing, grammar, word use—first try querying an AI site such as ChatGPT, Google Gemini or Perplexity. You can even ask, “Critique this story.”

Task for you: If you have something you wish to submit for publication in this WINGSPREAD Zine (a good quote, maxim, meme, humor or a reflection), send it to me for consideration. Hurdjames1941@gmail.com Thank you.

FORTHCOMING BOOK!

Forthcoming―a book of my stories and essays, new and old. Some samples ―”Egg McMuffin Miracle,” “Churched Atheists,” “Gaming Airport Security.” I’ll keep you posted on progress.

BLESSED UNBELIEVER novel

Sean’s serene childhood turns to tortured adolescence as he leaves for college and finds himself telling people he’s an atheist—.at a Bible Institute! What could possibly go wrong?

#hashtags:  #blessedunbeliever #christianwriter #babyloss #southerncalifornia #planes #aviation #humanist #pilotlife #religion #travel #aviationgeek #orangecounty #godless #atheism, #latinamerica

Available in paper or Kindle version at Wipf and Stock Publishers, Amazon https://a.co/d/9su5F3o or order it wherever good books are sold

New story: “Garage-Saleing Through an F2 Tornado“

Sunday, 11 Sept. 2005 Barbara’s garage-sale weekend has ended, an event to remember, that kicked off with an F2 tornado.

The preparation started months before, with Barbara collecting, sorting, repairing, and labeling. She recruited three neighbors to contribute, thus increasing potential sales. A spirited debate ensued over financing, timing, duration, organizing, advertising and recruiting the required labor. About one month before, the garage’s primary purpose was violated when our car was banished to the street. In its place grew a flea market filled with small appliances, kitchenware, clothing, books, magazines, furniture, boxes of miscellanea and knickknackery (I know―knickknack looks wrong but that’s what the Oxford Dictionary says so I’m stickin’ with it). We begged and borrowed tables to display stuff. We hung a pole across two step-ladders with room for a multitude of hangars for blouses, skirts, pants shorts, shirts and jackets. . . .
To read more, click here: https://tinyurl.com/2wxwzp34

Leave a comment on the article, subscribe to the webpage, and share with others. Thanks.

You can also access my stories on Substack: https://jameshurd.substack.com/publish/posts/detail/191488384

This month’s puzzler, thanks to Car Talk: “The Firetruck Race”

This one is a classic. Here it is. 

Many years ago, there was an intense but friendly rivalry between the volunteer fire departments of two nearby towns, Jeffersonville and East Norriton.

Pride was at stake as their rivalry climaxed each year in the Fireman’s Competition at the county fair. So closely matched were the two fire brigades in skill and experience that the preliminary hook and ladder events were virtually a tie, leading up to the final showcase event of the race of firetrucks.

This race would consist of twenty laps done counterclockwise around the quarter-mile dirt track at the fairgrounds.

Both fire brigades drove identical pumpers, scrupulously maintained and adjusted to peak performance. The rules required that they be set to factory configuration, fully loaded and equipped, and the crews identical in total weight to the nearest ounce.

Both drivers were skilled and experienced, wily veterans of the road, so they were very evenly matched in skill. 

The Jeffersonville team had come away disappointed four years in a row, having lost the final event by the closest of margins each time, so the stakes were high this year. 

Jeffersonville appealed to Gus Wilson, automotive legend from the Model Garage, to provide them with some small competitive advantage. Gus took a look at the high-wheeled pumpers and the dirt track and mused while he knocked the ashes from his pipe.

He then stepped forward, and without tools, without violating the rules, and without even opening the hood of this firetruck, he makes a quick adjustment that enabled Jeffersonville to take home the trophy that year.

What did he do?

Good luck.
 

 (Answer will appear in next month’s WINGSPREAD zine.)

Answer to last month’s puzzler: 

 So how could the auto racers possibly finish in the same time? Without using any clocks or timepieces of any sort?

The answer is, they used the timing of the windshield wipers! 

Using the same amount of wiper strokes means the same amount of time. Very clever indeed. 

Subscribe free to this Ezine:

Click here https://jimhurd.com/home/  to subscribe to this WINGSPREAD ezine, sent direct to your email inbox, every month. You will receive a free article for subscribing. Please share this URL with interested friends, “like” it on Facebook, retweet on Twitter, etc.

If you wish to unsubscribe from this Wingspread Ezine, send an email to hurdjames1941@gmail.com  and put in the subject line: “unsubscribe.” (I won’t feel bad, promise!) Thanks.

Wisdom

Obsolete Words

  • fopdoodle – foolish or insignificant person
  • beadledom – petty, fussy authority
  • zounds – exclamation (“God’s wounds!”)
  • gadzooks – mild oath (“God’s hooks!”)
  • smock – woman’s undergarment (now mostly archaic in that sense)
  • flapdoodle – nonsense
  • truckle-bed – a low bed stored under another

These are classic:

When I was young, I was told that anyone could become President….
            I’m beginning to believe it.

—–

When I was young, I prayed that I’d grow up to be somebody. Now I realize I should have been more specific.

—–

I didn’t realize how unsocial I was until there was a pandemic….
            And my life didn’t really change all that much.

—–

Don’t wear headphones while vacuuming; I’ve just finished the whole house before realizing the vacuum wasn’t plugged in.

—–

I gave all my dead batteries away today … free of charge.

—–

I just ordered a life alert bracelet. If I ever get a life I’ll be notified immediately

—–

To the guy who invented “zero” … Thanks for nothing.

—–

The Disappointment Club is pleased to announce that the Friday meeting is cancelled.

—–

Self-esteem is the feeling which makes us attribute our failures to bad luck, and our successes to good judgment.

—–

I was looking for that thingy that peels potatoes and carrots. I asked the kids if they’d seen it.
          Apparently, she left me a week ago.

—–

A woman adopted two dogs and named them Timex and Rolex.
Her friend asked her how she came up with the names.
She replied, “They’re both watch dogs.”

—–

Doctor; I’m afraid your condition is fairly advanced.
Patient; It was in its early stages when I first sat down in your waiting room.

—–

How does my doctor expect me to lose weight, when every medication he prescribes says, “Take with food.”

—–

Me: Doctor, I’ve swallowed a spoon.
Doctor: Sit there and don’t stir.

—–

I was walking past a farm and saw a sign that said: “Duck, eggs!”

I thought: “That’s an unnecessary comma.” Then it hit me.

      Baby needs a mommy face

Here’s a gem from C.S. Lewis, writing on love:

Being in love is a good thing, but it is not the best thing. There are many things below it, but there are also things above it. You cannot make it the basis of a whole life. It is a noble feeling, but it is still a feeling. Now no feeling can be relied on to last in its full intensity, or even to last at all. Knowledge can last, principles can last, habits can last but feelings come and go. And in fact, whatever people say, the state called ‘being in love’ usually does not last.

If the old fairy-tale ending ‘They lived happily ever after’ is taken to mean ‘They felt for the next fifty years exactly as they felt the day before they were married,’ then it says what probably never was nor ever would be true, and would be highly undesirable if it were. Who could bear to live in that excitement for even five years? What would become of your work, your appetite, your sleep, your friendships? But, of course, ceasing to be ‘in love’ need not mean ceasing to love.

Love in this second sense — love as distinct from ‘being in love’ — is not merely a feeling. It is a deep unity, maintained by the will and deliberately strengthened by habit; reinforced by (in Christian marriages) the grace which both partners ask, and receive, from God. They can have this love for each other even at those moments when they do not like each other; as you love yourself even when you do not like yourself. They can retain this love even when each would easily, if they allowed themselves, be ‘in love’ with someone else. ‘Being in love’ first moved them to promise fidelity: this quieter love enables them to keep the promise. it is on this love that the engine of marriage is run: being in love was the explosion that started it.”

―C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

            Stonehenge at solstice

Garage-Saleing Through an F2 Tornado

Sunday, 11 Sept. 2005 Barbara’s garage-sale weekend has ended, interrupted by only one F2 tornado.

The sale started months before, with Barbara collecting, sorting, repairing, and labeling. She recruited three neighbors to contribute, thus increasing potential customers. A spirited debate ensued over financing, timing, duration, organizing, advertising and recruiting the required labor. About one month before, the garage’s primary purpose was violated when I was instructed to park our car on the street. In its place grew a flea market filled with small appliances, kitchenware, clothing, books, magazines, furniture, boxes of miscellanea and knickknackery (I know―knickknack looks wrong but that’s how the Oxford Dictionary spells it so I’m stickin’ with it). We begged and borrowed tables to display stuff and hung a pole across two step-ladders with room for a multitude of hangars for blouses, skirts, pants. shorts, shirts and jackets. Each item for sale needed to be labeled with the name of the seller.

I asked myself, Who would want any of this stuff? Apparently, the overall objective of the garage sale was that we should not make any money. Barbara marked most of her items for cheap or free, and marked items went to half price on Friday. A brown shoebox with a slit in the top featured the label “Samaritan’s Purse.” It sat hopefully on one table where it awaited contributions for Franklin Graham’s world relief charity.

Barbara insisted on eight huge Garage Sale signs―they must be created, not purchased―with bold arrows and “Huge Block Sale” printed on them, to be installed at strategic corners in a half-mile radius. Most had a horizontal metal bar that one stood on to press the vertical steel tubes into the ground. Others needed a hammer to drive in the steel pole or a stapler to staple it to a telephone pole.

On Wednesday evening a borrowed frame with a white canopy covered the driveway. We spent nearly two hours hauling everything out and arranging it under and around the canopy, then collapsed into bed, exhausted, by 9:30 p.m.

It started g to rain immediately so we got up and got soaked when we dragged a few things into the garage. But before midnight, an F-2 tornado with 125 mph winds ripped through our neighborhood touching down four blocks away at 105th and Terrace where it uprooted 30” trees and damaged houses—one was completely destroyed and the walls blown apart. The heavy rains, winds and hail whipped off our canopy and soaked everything beneath it.

I was sad for those who suffered the damage, yet secretly relieved that the garage sale could now be canceled and we could just call the Salvation Army to come and pick up the soggy stuff.

But no; Barbara was adamant. “I already advertised it,” she said. Thus, we arose at 5:00 a.m. and before I left for work, we began carrying things out again, organizing, sweeping up the water, trying to dry out what was waterlogged. We rolled out a wagonful of partially-emptied paint cans. Hung ittle pink baby dresses. Set up five cardboard file cabinets (waterlogged). A box of children’s books (waterlogged). Back issues of Christianity Today and Better Homes and Gardens (waterlogged). Files of materials for teaching kindergarten from Barbara’s schoolteacher days 45 years ago. Broken toys. Empty flower pots (standing and hanging). A wooden drop-leaf table with a broken leg I’d mended twenty years before. Dishes, plates, cups, and boxes and boxes of books, most unlabeled and free for the taking. Then, Thursday night, we had to haul lots of stuff into the garage because rain was again forecast. I was instructed to tour the neighborhood to see if the sale signs were still standing. I was relieved that most of them were.

It rained most of the day, but Barbara stood indomitable, aggressively lowering prices, urging people to walk away with free stuff and happily chatting up the folks who stopped by. She opened her house for bathrooms and drinking water. Meanwhile, most of the neighborhood children had discovered the sale. Jake roamed about, asking where the free stuff was. His five-year-old sister, Lexie, exclaimed “Oh; there’s something for ten pennies!” as she counted out ten coins (mixing pennies and nickels). A non-stop talker, she went on about her family, the neighbors, anything. Then she paused, with one finger on her lips. “I can’t think of anything else to talk about!”  Several of the kids ended up downstairs watching TV.

On Friday, a man turned up his nose at the donation box—“I never give donations; people just come to Minnesota for the welfare.” Our 85-year-old bathrobed neighbor pushed her walker over to check out all the stuff. A native American mother of four stopped by and picked up free toys and books for the kids. A pastor’s wife was here for an hour, regaling Barbara with the problems at her husband’s church. A woman stopped by and asked, “Is all this stuff really free?”

On the last day of the sale, a cool Saturday morning, Lexie appeared again at our screen door. “It would be thoughtful if you would ask me in. It would be very thoughtful.” At lunchtime Barbara dispensed homemade sandwiches and drinks to all her helpers and miscellaneous children When the last customer had left at about 4:00 p.m., we observed that only half the stuff had disappeared. I was disappointed and sad for Barbara who had worked so hard on this sale, ruined by wind, rain, hail, and tornado. And the canopy still needed drying out, the frame disassembled, borrowed boards and tables returned and the remaining stuff disposed of.

But Barbara was ecstatic. ”We made $90.00 for Samaritan’s Purse, $50.00 for Kimberly, $30.00 for Jeny, $15.00 for Brandon and $90.00 for me.” In spite of all the challenges, the garage sale was a huge success

Thus it was that an F2 tornado disaster turned into a smashing triumph―an opportunity for neighborhood bonding, a channel of good will to the whole community and a demonstration of Barbara’s generous heart.