writing when inspired about the often overlooked
In this post I continue my dialogue with a tree I have been watching since the summer of 2017.   If you haven’t read my recent post entitled, “Dear Tiny Growing-our-of-the rock Tree, you’ll want to click HERE first. Dear person who sits under the Weeping Willow Tree, So why are you surprised I am answering…
Sometimes thoughts land in my journal, or on my Facebook page, and stay right there. Today I give you three of them all wrapped up in one blog post, “Psalm 27, Sunsets and Trying Harder.”
(from my August 2020 journal) Here you are again in your spot along my lake. How did you get here?†Over to the south and up on the bank is a tree with leaves that look much like yours. I wonder if the wind carried one of her seeds to this crack in the rocks?…
“Maylie, what would you like to know about Grandma Carol when she was a little girl?” Without missing a beat she replies, “Did you get splinters?” She’s been telling me about her splinters. It makes sense she wants to know. My current writing project centers around questions my grandchildren and their parents have chosen for…
She gingerly steps out of the shower, reaching for the towel on her side of the towel rod, making sure she does not slip on the wet floor as she dries herself off. She threw the bathroom rug away the weekend her parents came to visit, because experts say throw rugs are one of the…
From my journal May 22, 2020. it is now August 22, 2020 as I write this post. Often over the last three months as confusion reigns in our world, I return to these scenes and remember God is present with me. He is present with you ***** A two week stay-at-home order has turned into…
Starting in their teenage years, my husband began taking our three sons on annual getaway father/son weekends. We have since grown to a family of eighteen with the addition of three much-loved daughter’s-in-law and ten grandchildren. As the family grew, so did the size (and participants) of the getaways. Our first all-inclusive getaway, 20 years…
There I was – a blond-haired four year old living in the deep south community of Dixie, Alabama in the early 1950’s. My family, consisting of me and my parents, had just moved from a modern upstairs apartment in south central Pennsylvania with running water and a bathroom, to our “new” southern house, without running…
He loves his blankets. all five of them. Waking up, he points to a blanket saying “it,” over and over until his Grandma gathers all of them Then, and only then, does he melt into her lap, uncharacteristically quiet while he wakes up slowly to his world. Grandma loves these rare, quiet times all of…
Up to her usual shenanigans, April plays with us once again. She dusts our neighborhoods with snow while we sleep, chuckling at our dismay as we peer out the window in the morning. It doesn’t seem to matter to her we have the hammock and the swing in the yard. She tells us its sweater-time…