Our grandson wrecked on a 4-wheeler the day after Christmas. Here we are at the end of 2020, and our immediate family is still reeling from it. We check in with the parents and try to get our bearings for another day. Friends and family members pray and ask what they can do to help. Mainly, we want their prayers. We wait and pray and do what we can to help, which never seems enough. We pray for the medical team, we pray for our grandson. If you are living and aware, you know

Christmas is less than a week away. I bought most gifts online, but three came from local shops. Those were the ones I wanted to personally deliver. I called a friend ahead, not wanting the doorbell to surprise her. When I pulled into her driveway, Diane was bundled in her jacket, waiting. Because of the virus, we wore masks and did our distancing. Diane protects Joe, her husband who fights Parkinson’s, and herself. She does whatever needed to support him. Because she loves J

This time last year, I’d never heard of Covid-19 or social distancing. We live in the Ozark Mountains, where the air has been of good quality and where people did not grow up distancing. More likely, they have PhDs in gathering and socializing. A bunch of friendly people. 12 months ago, I could not imagine wearing a mask to go anywhere. I could not imagine the chaos that’s happening in the world or in America. You know what I’m talking about—the violence, the unrest in the po

I write one every year, then send it to relatives and close friends. Done this for about 45 years. It’s usually a time to update folks on our family—you know, the struggles and happy times, the losses and gains. It’s fun for me to write, because I imagine myself in conversation with several of them. I can conjure up their reactions. There’s joy in it for them and for me. That’s pure imagination on my part, of course. If you put out an hour’s worth of energy to write a Christm