Yesterday was a typical Arkansas summer day–hot, with bumble bees in the flowers, birds at the bird bath. The house with its refrigerated air got to be a little much, so I went to the deck to soak up the sun, look at the blue sky above me, and breathe some fresh air. Nemo went […]
Mar 11, 2017
Cleaning Out That Attic of Memories
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A friend of mine is getting ready to move to a different location. She is going through everything in her house, deciding what she wants and what she doesn’t want. I don’t think she has an attic, but if she did, she’d be sorting through it, keeping, discarding. Why can’t we do that with memories? Why […]
Jan 15, 2017
Tribal Customs
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Routines are nice as long as they don’t become ruts. Routines are not the same as schedules. A schedule seems rather inflexible and fixed, but a routine is a pattern that gives meaning to a day. Routines are more like tribal customs. In the dim, dark ages that many people have never experienced, those days before […]
Dec 29, 2016
The Deed Is Done for One More Year
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The deed is done! Yesterday, I took down the tree and packed it and the ornaments away. All the Santa gourds are off the mantel to be replaced with just…gourds, no particular season. Nemo can return to his usual sunny self because the tree no longer covers one of his napping spots. Wreaths are down, […]
Nov 3, 2016
The Beauty of Brothers
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My brothers and I often reminisce. Sadly, we don’t usually chat over coffee; our conversations are by telephone except for those rare occasions when we can all get together. Who else but my brothers can remember relatives who are no longer with us or recollect childhood days with Mom and Dad? It’s funny; even when thinking of a shared […]
Aug 5, 2016
A Morning Reflection
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The quiet of early morning, before the day actually begins its routine of busy-ness, lends itself to reflection. I hear the train whistle downtown and wonder how many generations have heard it and what their lives were like. Did they sit at the breakfast table with a cup of steaming coffee, as I am sitting […]
