PATRICIA KEOUGH WILSON

We were sitting on the edge of the dock, legs crossed, or maybe our feet were dangling in the water of the Minnesota lake. I was weeping. She was puzzled, patient and looking for an answer. It was almost July 4th. She asked what I needed, what would ease my sadness, end the salty tears dripping down my cheeks. I must have looked a sight. I wept as if tragedy had taken away something irreplaceable. It had in a way. I'd been single for a few years. My kids had flown the nest an

This blog post is about my finding a way to plant the seed of writing my mother encouraged in me. That seed in me was nurtured by my mother until it was vibrant and strong. I am grateful for all my mother did as she guided me to use my Encouraging others is like planting seeds sometimes. This blog post is about writing talent as a gift from God and for God. I did not know that my mother was a writer until she was a widow in her late sixties. She had always encouraged me in my

This Sunday, women all over the United States will get cards and gifts, maybe even flowers. But not all. Some have no children to honor them. Some are daughters without living mothers. Some are homeless. Still, mothers have this bond, an understanding of something not easily put into words. I send those women, all women who read this post, flowers. I wonder why some holidays are fraught with conflicting emotions. I am sure you can guess that my personal list includes Mother’s

I was told from childhood that I was slow, dreamy, lost, off in the clouds. In fact, I was scolded frequently for being late to elementary school, only a short walk away. It was worse in high school where the walk was longer and up a steep hill. Then when I chose hypnotism for the birth of my first child, the trained medical doctor tried to get me to throw away pain. Nope. No deal. My brain balked at the idea. Escape to somewhere I’d rather be. Easy, Peasy. Off I went to real