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Quiet Grief

All I know to do is wait. Wait, pray, ask for help, and hold these feelings. I messed up on the computer. It means my pictures, documents, and files may be lost. I have a saving place, but I have not backed up anything in a year or more. I planned on waiting until I’d finished this manuscript before backing everything up. I finished the manuscript several days ago. I did not back it up. Saved in the computer, but no back-up. I was waiting for the final edit. You know how a house fire can take everything? We may be talking about my computer swallowing whatever I had stored there. Programs, gone too. Unbelievable that I clicked a button that deleted programs like Word and Email. Like a burning

“Why Do You Write?”

“Good question. I write because I must.” Later, when I am alone, I ponder the question. Why do I write? Writing certainly gobbles up my time. Takes me away from family, friends, housework. It’s as if I have been called to write my observations: a brilliant sunset seen through dark branches of a tree, the husband’s hat, my journey through cancer, walls I build up, walls I tear down. It’s like a map of my experiences. Not always easy to look at. I share what I write, but it still may be for me. Perhaps it helps me feel less lost in the complex world I live in. In the back of my head, I hope to make a tiny difference by writing. Maybe it is like the advice I gave to my children, wanting them to

Little Places Can Make Big Things Happen

Four people were sitting together under the television on the wall. I sat where I could watch the weatherman showing maps. Five minutes later, I asked, “Did the weatherman say ice and maybe snow?” The man responded, “Yes, and it looks like it’s coming our way.” “Let’s hope it’s not like the ice storm of 2009. We were without power for 12 days,” I responded. “We were, too! Two full weeks!” one said. One lady in the group carefully stood up after hearing her name called. Everyone watched her walk to the door. That left three of them. Leaving my purse and coat, I moved down a couple of seats to sit directly across from some down-to-earth people. We had something to share, more than letting some


(The writing of this blog follows the viewing of a moving documentary called Touched by Auschwitz and a bad dream.) When I was young, my family lived in either a town or city with houses all around us. We had a small garden, neighborhood friends, a corner grocery, and an elementary school. But we did not have a dog. “No,” Daddy said a hundred times. “Too much trouble.” Over the years, I came to believe dogs were too much trouble. My husband, on the other hand, had a precious terrier as a child. He believed all dogs were fun. So where did that leave us? I acquiesced. How different our lives would have been had I been set on staying dogless. We now live in the country, and we have had more tha

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