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Sunday, October 04, 2015
  • Tuesday, September 29, 2015 12:08 AM
    Hudson Charles is the quintessential seven-year-old boy.  Inquisitive and observant, he makes a “healthy” snack by wrapping lettuce around a Dorito, and calls his notebook and pencil a “writing app.”
  • Wednesday, September 23, 2015 12:09 AM
    On a recent trip to Tennessee, a friend and I decided to spend the day visiting old haunts, and retracing the steps of our childhood.  The old neighborhood has become quite run down, but the little house on the corner of Kirby and Watkins still looks the same. 
  • Tuesday, September 15, 2015 10:56 PM

    I was lying in bed in that state just before full awareness and had the distinct sensation of being at my grandma’s house. It lasted only a few seconds, but it felt so good that I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it again.

    Listening carefully, I breathed in deeply, and tried to determine what had caused my brain to momentarily transport me to the most comforting place of my childhood.

    Perhaps it was the faint smell of plaster wafting from the closet. A little repair work was recently completed, and the scent of ancient plaster still hangs in the air.

  • Tuesday, September 08, 2015 7:18 PM

    This past weekend, a reunion was held at the Christian school I attended as a child, so I hopped aboard the “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” and headed back to Tennessee. Saturday turned into a “Sentimental Journey” as my dearest old friend and I took a lengthy walk down memory lane.

    The old school was housed on a college campus, so we headed there first. From kindergarten through university, the schools have all closed down. For being in the heart of the city, it was eerily similar to a ghost town. We walked past our favorite old haunts, peering through dusty windows, and reminiscing about the way things used to be. 

  • Tuesday, September 01, 2015 7:31 PM

    Slowly but surely, I am making progress on the unpacking of my new house. Because the packing was done quickly, there isn’t much rhyme or reason to the contents of many of the boxes. A left shoe here, a random charger for some electronic gadget there, it’s all rather hodge podge.

    I imagine if you could peek inside my brain at any given moment, it would look quite similar to the moving boxes. They say a man’s brain is very compartmentalized, and that he can think about one thing at a time, and then put it back in its designated compartment. But a woman’s brain is like a pile of spaghetti, all the thoughts entwined and touching each other. 

  • Tuesday, August 25, 2015 9:51 PM

    I’m sitting here in the new house, boxes stacked to the ceiling; a virtual maze of corrugated cardboard and Sharpie ink which is sometimes the only indication of which room I have entered.

    “The kitchen must be here somewhere. Ah yes, here it is! I can tell because this wall of boxes stacked higher than my head reads ‘silverware,’ ‘cookie sheets’ and ‘underwear drawer.’”

    “Wait a minute. Is this the kitchen or the bedroom?”

    It has been this way all weekend. The movers either got tired of reading, or they live in a one room efficiency apartment where they do indeed keep their underwear in the kitchen. 

  • Tuesday, August 18, 2015 8:31 PM

    I might have mentioned before, at least once or twice, that I’m not much of a camper. My camping experiences have been limited to sleeping in a tent one night on the corner of a friend’s deck, two nights at my daughter’s scouting event and 10 extremely stressful nights in Haiti umpteen years ago.

    But none of those excursions were really like true camping. Other people did all of the planning and cooking. I just showed up and did what I was told.

    But this week, the little ones and I will be urban camping. That is, we are moving. I am packing up the house I have lived in for 19 years, and relocating it all to the big city and bright lights of Thorntown, Indiana. 

  • Tuesday, August 11, 2015 7:47 PM

    This coming weekend, my cousin is getting married. I don’t get to see that branch of the family very often, so I am considering driving to St. Louis for the ceremony. I mentioned the possibility to my eight year old daughter and seven year old son.

    Phoebe was, of course, very excited and immediately began discussing what she should wear. This is a child after my own shallow heart. She knows wearing just the right outfit can make or break any event.

    Hudson Charles, on the other hand, had an entirely different response.

    “How far is St. Louis?”

    “About six hours.”

    “What? We have to drive six hours for a stupid weddin’? I hate weddin’s.”

  • Tuesday, August 04, 2015 10:47 PM

    “How are you today?” the sales clerk asked.

    I offered the standard, “I’m fine, how are you?”

    “I’m hanging in there,” she replied.

    “Okay, to be honest, I’m barely hanging in there myself. This has been a really crappy week,” I divulged.

    She came around the counter, and took both of my hands in hers. “Do you mind if I do this?”

    Given my strong Christian upbringing and background, I thought she was going to pray with me. “I don’t mind,” I replied. “I welcome it.”

    She then proceeded with a psychic reading. Initially, my reaction was to pull my hands away, but the accuracy of her first statement was quite compelling, so I let her continue. 

  • Tuesday, July 28, 2015 8:06 PM

    As I write, a four month old kitten named Simba is curled up next to me, resting against my thigh. He occasionally bats at the Sydney Opera House charm, a gift from Australian Sam that dangles from my bracelet. But mostly he is resting, purring contentedly like a finely-tuned motor in a well-maintained car.

    This is new for me. I have not been exposed to animals very much throughout my life. Mostly, I have been fearful of them due to an unfortunate childhood experience.

    When I was seven years old, my friend and I were skipping happily down the sidewalk, carefree as seven year old girls should be. Suddenly, it seemed out of nowhere, two German Shepherds appeared in front of us, fighting ferociously. Standing on their hind legs, they were as tall as me, and their sharp teeth were eye level. The growling was fierce, and the snarling terrifying. 


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