The runaway writer, making every day an adventure.
Several people back in Tennessee have asked to read the story. It’s a very personal story, but after my friend told me she was approached by two women at her bridge club who wanted her to thank me for sharing, I decided to put it here. The theme was Hope for The Holidays. Here’s my story –
Our lives are a puzzle - made of so many different, odd shaped pieces. Those weird ones with the sharp angles, dark red or deep blue, that look more like someone else's bad dream than a piece of your puzzle.
She had to decide right then what she was taking and what she was leaving. All her memories out there in the yard.
She'd taught everything they needed to know. She'd taught them compassion and trust.
My parents both had their own demons to deal with while raising four kids. I was always a daddy's girl and it took me thirty years to understand a lot of things, but I think I found the answers I needed. In my earlier blog, I shared some of my best memories. I touched on... Continue Reading →
This man built treehouses and death-defying water slides. Once he took me, my sister and little brother out in the woods and told us to find all the moss we could. He wouldn't tell us why, just gave us buckets to fill. Later he took the double-decker wire mesh tool rack off of his work... Continue Reading →
I met a man who I'll never forget. He stopped me in the hallway to tell me how scared he was. He hated coming in, hated the word cardiology, hated the word echo. Hated my scrubs. He was over six feet of raw emotions carrying his new baby. I explained the test in the hallway... Continue Reading →
He was stressed because of some new things going on that I wasn't aware of. For some reason I told him about Curly having seizures. I have no idea why that popped up but, it did.
Thanks to sixteen years in pediatrics and all of the great kids I met- I have hope that they are more aware, more considerate, and way smarter than we give them credit for.