I was splashing around in the vast and seemingly endless sea of social media and came across this set of lyrics by a man named John Gorka. The original post was made by Barney Davey under career success. See if Mr. Gorka’s words do not uplift and resonate: Morningside From the album: Company You Keep Am I a fool at this… Read More
Bed-der Days
“Where have you been? I was worried!â€Â My husband, usually a calm and steady rock of a man, entered my car, omitted the kiss and greeting, and flung those words at me like tiny Ninja knives. His angst took me aback, and I pondered my response accordingly. This past Sunday he sang in the choir at both church services. Fearing… Read More
The Creative Within
Sometimes I feel like I’m waiting to be born. Floating in an amniotic dream, I’m healthy and happy and yet, I want to arrive! As time ushers me from phase to phase of my life—childhood, teenager, adult, wife (twice), motherhood (twice), middle-aged student—I find my womanly maturity needs ever-increasing creative expression. There are days I feel as though I’m spinning,… Read More
The Woodpile
I love the smell of a wood fire on a cool night. Maybe it’s because my childhood home was heated with wood that I appreciate what it takes to go from standing tree to fragrant warmth. It was part of the seasonal farm routine to take the tractor and wagon, bump along a narrow logging road, and cut and load… Read More
Energy
Ghosts, and witches, and zombies, oh my! Driving to and fro as chores beckon, I can’t help but notice the decorations honoring autumn and celebrating Halloween. It makes me smile and sigh at the same time. Just thinking about the energy required to festoon a house with little skeleton lights a month before the Christmas lights go up makes me… Read More
The Drive
After leaving my father’s farm, I decided to drive the short distance to where my mother’s grave site is located. Two miles from the farm take a right, go about another mile south (not too far past Edna’s old farm!), and there is the tiny, almost hidden cemetery. The autumn-clad trees surrounding the small meadow wore reds, golds, and coppery… Read More
The Mourning After
The open barn door both invited and repelled. I had not been inside for more years than I can recall. Despite the dust and decay, my memories of how it used to look were intact. Did I want to disturb the dream? The reason I had returned to my childhood home was to help my siblings write thank you notes… Read More
Kindess
As my siblings and I arrange the funeral for my father, I offered to contact a florist. Operating on a budget, we nonetheless wanted flowers that echo the essence of Dad. Flowers festive enough for celebrating his life, and masculine enough to indicate his love of hunting, fishing, and the outdoors. My husband called Vicky Chenoweth, a kind and compassionate… Read More
The Blinking Light
My father died Saturday night. I knew it was coming. In some far-off distant “it’s not going to happen to me†way we all know death is coming, but I believed there was more time for him. For us. My heart said he would beat the doctor’s prognosis because my dad was strong. In fact in my mind he was… Read More
A Pint For A Pint
I have a bit of a love hate relationship with the American Red Cross. I love what they do, but I don’t always love the way they do it. I’m referring to their various blood drives and my part in them. Once I started donating years ago, I began getting phone calls, emails, and cards in the regular mail. Each… Read More
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