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.
I bought Where The Wild Things Are at a scholastic book fair in 2nd grade for my little brother. He was four years younger and my little buddy. I couldn't wait to get home and read it to him. If I played hot wheels with him first, he'd let me read to him for as... Continue Reading →
Walking in Linda's back field in a pair of faded overalls and a wad of Red Man chewing tobacco in his cheek with a determined look on his face. Focused on the divining rods in his hands, he looked like a country preacher or moonshiner, serious in his business.
She had to decide right then what she was taking and what she was leaving. All her memories out there in the yard.
At the end of the study I looked at her mom and said, "Your daughter is going to be covered in ink from under her chin to the tops of her feet by the time she's twenty."
"Kid, you're wearing me out. I'm old." "You're not old!" Disgusted look on his face. I showed him my wide streaks of gray hair to prove it.