I wiped my hands on the white hand towel hanging in my bathroom. My palms were cleaner but there was a small very black stain left on the towel. My first reaction was to frown but a smile from my heart replaced my frown as I remembered the source of that stain. I’d used a sharpie to write a Bible verse on my palms at the conclusion of a Beth Moore study, Children of The Day, on both books of Thessalonians. The verse disappeared each time I washed my hands. I’d surprised mysel
My entire writing career has been consumed by writing for others, primarily telling stories of companies, moments, people, legislation, industry changes - a combination of feature stories, reporting and opinions. On the side, I've always written for joy, for myself and for a very limited audience. Now, that I've broached real retirement, I find myself writing for others again. Yet this time, the writing and stories are entirely different - a song of joy and personal expressio
I have a thing about trees. It began when I was in grade school and I’d walk a mile or so to visit my grandmother. This walk should have taken less than an hour even for a dreamy, slow walking girl. The trees distracted me. The height of the trees lining lawns and sidewalks made them look like towers to the sky. Across the road, trees shaded the lake. I was so tree focused I scarcely noticed the road or cars passing by. I wonder now if any of the people passing by in cars won
My Uncle Charlie owned a boat marina. I loved the smell of that place, a mix of oil and water. He is gone now, hopefully with God, but I never discussed God with my only uncle. My mother was an only child and my father had one brother, my Uncle Charlie. Now that it is years too late, I have a list of topics I wish I’d asked this uncle who smoked a pipe, a habit I found intriguing. I learned very important things about carrying on life in the face of imminent death from this u
Florida drew me through promises of no more cold winters and blizzards along with memories of time spent there with my mom. I never liked winter and winter did not act as if it cared for me, often sending me to bed with long bouts of bronchitis. My dad’s death freed me to end a troubled marriage. My dad had predicted I wouldn’t be happy in my marriage and I didn’t want to let him know he was right. After he passed away, I saved all my vacation time to be with my widowed mom.
As to when I not only knew my father was a funeral director but understood what that meant, I think it was before I started grade school. I’d stand at a living room window to watch men carry a casket across the street into the Catholic church or watch the black hearse pull out of the driveway to go to another church. I often say I knew death before I knew life. A child with a wild imagination, I felt as if I could hear the tears of the grieving in the funeral home under our a