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Surviving Destruction

First of all, I realize we live in the mountains with God’s critters. Love catching sights of the deer, turkey, bear, coyotes, turtles. But then, there are the hogs! Razorback hogs! As of three weeks ago, I now know how destructive feral hogs can be. They came out of the mountains at night to our little happy valley, and they feasted on grubs in our yard. They must think we have a fine restaurant. The week before Mother’s Day, we had rain, silver bars of rain. Ground was soft, and numerous hogs came, rooting their way through our yard. I mean they really went through it. Too many. Too many. A bad feeling hit me. Hit me like a band of thieves had come through my window and had stolen somethin

Beautiful Bag Ladies

Just turned 75. All is not perfect, but near enough. Doors close as you get older. With each new season, another door closes. I have no idea why I still want to open all those doors, but I do. A few of us women, no matter how dressed-up or dressed-down we are, carry huge beautiful bags. Isn’t that a strange thing to notice after church on Mother’s Day? Beautiful bags. Beautiful ladies. Beautiful bag ladies. That set me to thinking—that’s a door that hasn’t closed for any of us. As we left the church that day, I asked two ladies if they’d expose what they carry in their beautiful bags, if they’d just email me a list. (Don’t worry, I told them I’d be putting it in a blog. No trickery here.) La

Thank You!

I’d tried other options. Then a nurse from my doctor’s office sent me for X-rays. We were guessing until then. Sciatic nerve. Confirmation. Yes! I was not imagining this pain which ran from my lower back, down my leg. I had a nerve needing a little extra help. My thanks to Jan, Susan, and Jennifer, physical therapists. I thank you for listening to me grumble, mumble, about the pain. I told my housewife story about getting the sheets off a bed, how I must have angled my body. I knew exactly when the nerve moved. Not a thrilling story, but you listened anyway. I am much obliged for the listening. We had thirty to forty minutes together twice a week. For me, it meant giving up time and energy—a

Rocks

My eyes shift from the thunderclouds and lightning to the ground where we have outlined flowerbeds with rocks. Rocks. I just need to be a rock. They get rained on, snowed on, peed on by dogs, and yet they stand tall and stay in place. Sometimes the world spins backwards and too fast for me, and I find myself wanting to run from noise and the unpredictability of the world. That can mean wanting space from the world, too. Oh, to become like a rock. A painted rock, a granite rock, a small pebble or a huge boulder. They can come from the river, the mountain, the valley, a dirt road. It doesn’t matter. Rocks are solid and pitted, helpful and willing to be used, even for small jobs. Beautiful, no

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