The tiny, baby blue Datsun sedan pulled into the driveway at 5:00 every weeknight, like clock work, setting into motion a flurry of activity. The table would be set, then came serving up the pork chops and fried potatoes or some other comfort food that Mom knew Daddy would appreciate after a long day in … More Dinner for 3 at 5
As we watched Zack and his friends last night enjoying their final high school formal festivities, it’s just one more reminder that Darren and I will soon be empty nesters. We are closing in on the end of our eighth and final year of high school shenanigans with our boys. Like all the other parents … More Empty Nest Dry Run
Leaning back in the uncomfortable arm chair, I was mesmerized by the magnolia’s silhouette in the silvery, pre-dawn moonlight. A lovely distraction on the other side of the window, breaking up what had been a long, hard night that would most certainly segue into a long, hard day. She had been there for the better … More Magnolia in the Moonlight
“You’re fine,” she said as we rolled up to the stop sign, “just don’t stop right on top of the railroad tracks.” Easier said than done. Mom made driving a stick shift look so easy, fun even. I certainly wasn’t having fun, and I doubt she was having much of a good time, either. I … More Flying By the Seat of My Pajamas
Number Two has a pokey sort of growth, a two-day beard covering his jaws. The mustache could really be a mustache if he worked on it. Early morning glasses and puffy eyes. Upper lip still poking out just a bit past the lower; something only his mother would notice. Sweet boy is so much like … More My Boys to Men
At some point in my early childhood, in my pretty, happy bedroom with the shaggy yellow carpeting, there was a Charlie Brown trash can with the exclamation, “Good Grief” bubbled over that big, round head. Of course I knew Charlie Brown, and I’d heard him lament in many Charlie Brown specials, but never did I … More Grief is Not a Four Letter Word
I try to guard my heart. I take seriously the business of protecting the wounded center of my very being. Each morning I wrap it in pillowy softness to shield it from over-exposure or vulnerability to further damage. It’s already been broken and I work hard to keep the break from splintering into tiny, jagged … More How Do You Protect a Grieving Heart?