Like most of America, I’ve been watching the coverage of Sandy for the last two days. My thoughts and prayers are with those who have been affected, and I breathe a sigh of relief with each new Facebook post saying that another friend is safe. There are so many images of unimaginable destruction and loss, but one in particular has stuck with me. (more…)
All of us who live in the South have heard some version of this comment from our friends of a more northern persuasion:
“I couldn’t live down here. I’d miss the change of seasons too much.”
It’s true that we don’t always have the gradual Spring thaw with the first green sprigs peeking timidly through the muddy remnants of the last snow. Instead we go to bed one March night with nothing but bare branches in the yard and wake up with a riot of white blossoms on every pear tree. And we don’t have a month or two to go through a slow transition from long johns to lightweight jackets to summer wear. Instead we go directly from boots and sweaters to shorts and sandals. But we usually get a day or two of beautiful weather when we can open the windows and air out the house before we shut ourselves in for the long, hot summer. (more…)
Mom was always a fearful person. Dad worked nights several times during their 70-year marriage. She sometimes told the story of being a young bride, left alone in an isolated country house while her groom worked at the ice house every night. One evening she was awakened from a restless sleep by a terrible noise. She later described it as sounding like someone was trying to get into the house straight through the wall of her bedroom. She had no phone and no close neighbors, so she huddled in the center of the bed, trembling with fear and wondering how long she had left to live. The noise continued for a while, but when the walls didn’t splinter and the threat didn’t seem to increase, she screwed up her courage and crept outside to investigate. She slipped down the front steps and peeked around the corner, and there she saw it. An old milk cow was chewing on the grass that grew up beside the pier and beam foundation that supported the house. She laughed about it later, but she and I had a replay of sorts years later when I was in my early teens. (more…)
I almost began this post with I haven’t written much in the last week or so, but that’s not really accurate. I’ve written a lot: agendas for meetings; e-mails announcing meetings and encouraging people to attend; copy for flyers, posters and the church website; more e-mails answering questions. Our church is hosting an area-wide ladies’ conference in January, and our pastor asked me to coordinate the event. If I could re-wind to that moment when I said Sure, why not, I might think again before answering.
Seriously, I’m enjoying the experience, and the response from people who are willing to help has been amazing, but it’s also amazing how much time and focus is required. Something else that is amazing is how, in spite of no longer being directly involved with Alzheimer’s and being totally focused on something other than my writings about caring for those with the disease, I am still faced with Alzheimer’s again and again. (more…)
When I got my first “blog award” a few months after I published my first post, I was really excited. Then I read the instructions: post this award button on your blog, write a post including 7 things about yourself and links to 15 blogs including the one who sent you this award. Be sure to send an award notification to the bloggers you mention along with an explanation of the award requirements. It sounded an awful lot like a chain letter to me, and my excitement dwindled a bit. In fact, I handled those awards the way I handle most chain letters: I did nothing. Then I got an award from Liz. (more…)
Anaheim chili peppers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I made a pot of green chili stew this afternoon using home grown Anaheim peppers. In May I planted a small garden: 2 tomato plants, 4 cayenne peppers and 4 Anaheim peppers. David laughed and said it looked a little scraggly. He was right, but the squirrels didn’t mind. They watched carefully, and every time a tomato got about the size of a ping pong ball, they carefully snatched it, leaving no broken leaves or incriminating paw prints. I don’t know how many I lost; I quit counting after 30. (more…)
The story of a lonely, innocent girl who gets tangled up in the sex trafficking trade in a small Texas town. It’s about her relationship with Eric, a slick suburban pimp; Jesse, a Christian tattoo artist and motorcycle rider; and Mrs. G, a compassionate but tough attorney and foster parent.
