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I Salute Grandparents!

It’s a huge job. Tiring and joy-packed, if you have the nerve to take it on, if you are willing to live out the role. No money in this kind of work. Just purpose and love. I remember when grandkids were little and fought over our laps. I still can throw back my head and laugh as I recall three of them clamoring for one lap. They call us Mamaw and Papaw, but the name doesn’t matter a twit. We would’ve answered to Meemaw and Peepaw or Nana and Pop just as well. What matters is that the grandchildren know we love them in a special way. And that we know we are loved by each of them. No doubt in any of our minds or hearts. Years ago when I was a counselor, I listened to the stories of clients. So


It’s Wednesday evening. Light is dimming in the sky. During normal times, we are picking up children in a van for church. Today is abnormal. Church is closed. Children are staying home. We are staying home. Last Wednesday night, we asked the children to help us look for a hubcap in the ditches. (Our church van lost one of its hubcaps.) My husband, the driver of the van, thought we’d probably lost it on one of the dirt roads. So, we offered a dollar as a reward to the first one who spotted it. Two little girls, ages five and six, were vigilant about looking for the hubcap. They had no luck. We had no luck. No hubcap. After we returned home that evening, my husband and I talked about what that


Another event—cancelled, postponed, put away, put aside. The stores are out of toilet paper? What? I am shocked. I might have been less surprised if it had been a computer virus. I’m always being warned about computer viruses. Norton keeps me in the loop. But a virus that hits the body? Not at all expected. Yesterday I was told by a reliable source that there are four strains of the coronavirus. And today I read that there are actually seven coronaviruses. Really? A lot to process. Here's a link to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention if you'd like to read about it. Human Coronavirus Types. Seems like there’s a new piece to the coronavirus every day. Today, our governor shut down t


Gone for several days. When I returned home, it was early evening. Half-expected the dogs to be spinning and gleeful, but no thoughts about the daffodils! Only buds when I left. Now laughing and rabble-rousing! Full blooms! If you aren’t a flower person, you may not get it. It’s okay. There’re lots of things I don’t get. But those of you who know what it’s like to suddenly wake up to forsythia stars and daffodil trumpets in gala attire—well, you know…. Pure joy to be greeted this way. Pure joy. Maybe it’s the way gardeners feel about red beefy tomatoes. When that green tomato grows and turns cardinal red, it’s show-and-tell time! Tomatoes and daffodils. The sun and its warmth. Magical. What

Never Enough Rocks….

According to the great philosopher Forrest Gump, “Mama always said life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” There’s one line from the Forrest Gump movie I hang onto. There’s never enough rocks…. Was that the heart of the story? No, I don’t think so, but it was the heart of one of the sub-plots. Throwing rocks was the beginning of the healing process for his best friend Jenny, who’d been sexually, physically, emotionally abused. Forrest cared about Jenny. He said, “Me and Jenny go together like peas and carrots.” Finally, as an adult, Jenny gave herself permission to be angry and realized it was her father’s fault, not hers. He was the adult in the story. She,

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