I was lying in bed, minding my own business, reading a book, when Sarah shouted from the vicinity of my master bathroom:
“MOM -- Come HERE!”
I entered the bathroom to find her wrapped in a towel, dripping on the rug, and peering into the little space behind the toilet bowl. “I think I found your friend.”
Yes, my dears, it was the cute little garter snake with the persistent urge to journey to a far land.
“Um, what should we do? The other kids won’t be home for half an hour, and I don’t want him to disappear again.” We finally decided that though we knew he wouldn’t bite us (fingers crossed), we didn’t think we could bring ourselves to touch him. Nope, I don’t think so. The thought was just too creepy.
So, I fetched a pair of tongs and a plastic box with a lid. Sarah spoke soothingly to him while she attempted to grasp him with the tongs “It’s okay buddy, I won’t hurt you.” I wanted to tell him she fed the same line to the toad, but I kept my mouth shut out of sheer heebie-jeebies! A quick flip into the box, and I carried him out to the front yard and it was the smoothest ‘catch and release’ event I’ve ever witnessed.
I returned to the house to get my camera, so I could chronicle the event for you all. I knew you’d be worried about the poor little guy, after all.
And while I was hunched over in the grass, snapping away, I realized – my son was planning to mow the yard today. I couldn’t bear the thought of this poor creature surviving a week in the danger zone that is my house, cleverly avoiding the great hunters that are my cats, and eating who knows what – I don’t even want to think about it, but now that I do – I think I remember a cricket chirping merrily away the other night before his chirps suddenly ended in what I can only now describe as a cry of cricket pain ------- Where was I? Oh yes, the thought of him surviving all of that, only to be mangled by the mower was too much for my poor heart to bear. So, I grabbed a stick and coaxed him, inch by squirming inch, into the flower bed.
Last time I saw the little fellow, he was slithering happily under the hostas.
I sure hope he catches up with his friends.
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Thursday, May 31, 2007
I was lying in bed, minding my own business, reading a book, when Sarah shouted from the vicinity of my master bathroom:
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
This post is inspired by a post I read last week. With a laundry room like this, who wouldn’t want to spend hours pulling warm clothes out of the dryer, folding, hanging, and (gasp) ironing?
Woah! Let’s take things slowly here, and cross that bridge when we come to it.What is it about laundry that I find so appealing? It is, after all, a never-ending job. Right now, both my colors hamper and my whites hamper are overflowing. But there is something about the smell of soap, bleach, and water. (Yes, water has a smell.)
The simple act of throwing smelly t-shirts and sweaty socks into a bucket and coming back half-an-hour later to find the smells are gone! Then after a quick toss in the dryer, there’s the warmth of freshly laundered towels and sheets to be folded, and neatly stacked in the linen closet. Ahhh.I guess I really like that part.
The part I don’t like is the smelly, inside out socks, the wet dishrags, the (ugh) underwear.In my old house the washer and dryer were in the garage -- hot and humid in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. We spent as little time as possible doing laundry in that garage. Toss in a load of clothes, throw in the soap, start the machine, and dash to the temperature controlled environment of the house, proper.
Since I couldn’t hear when the machine stopped, I always set a timer to remind me to check on the progress of the load. Timer dings – dash out to transfer clothes to the dryer, toss in a dryer sheet, start the machine and repeat process with a new load of dirty clothes before dashing madly back into the house where the cool, or warm air rushed to greet me.
Of course, clean, dry laundry ended up in a pile on the couch, and inevitably, someone would come to visit just when I had about four loads worth of “laundry mountain” where they should need to sit.I hated doing laundry in that house.Now my washer and dryer are located in my spacious, well lit, and air conditioned (heated in winter) master bathroom.
I, of course, make several trips into that bathroom each day, -- to gaze at myself in the mirror and ask who’s the fairest one of all, of course – what did you think I was doing in there?? -- and I am quickly reminded of how satisfying it would be to toss in a load of clothes and let those wonderful machines work their magic! I love the satisfaction of empty laundry hampers, and the smell of my clean laundry in the dressers and closets.
In fact, I think I’ll go start a load of laundry right now. But I probably won’t be doing any ironing. I just can’t seem to talk myself into liking that task.
Oh well. I hear wrinkled is the new neatly pressed!
Friday, May 25, 2007
I sat down at my computer this morning to post a review of two books I’ve finished for the Spring Reading Thing 2007, “Digging to America” by Anne Tyler and “Stepping Heavenward” by Elizabeth Prentiss.
I’ve been struggling with partial writer’s block (the real thing) where these two books were concerned, because though it’s really easy for me to review a book that I absolutely loved, reviewing one, or two that I would only give a B- or C is kind of difficult – maybe because I still have that “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” tape playing in my head.
What can I say, when for me, there’s really no great material to work with?
So, anyway, Deena, over at A Peek at My Bookshelf, has rescued me! She tagged me for the Literary Meme, and this is how it works:
1. Grab the book closest to you.(I will do both books.)
2. Open it to Page 161.
3. Find the fifth full sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence to your blog.
5. Don’t search around for the coolest book you have, use the one that is really
right next to you.
6. Tag five people to do this meme.
How convenient that I am sitting at my computer with only these two books on my desk!
So, though I don’t normally just post memes – (I guess because I use this blog to discipline myself to write pieces with content and substance, and that’s my own personal preference, though I enjoy reading the fun and funny stuff posted by others) I intend to take this as a challenge! Intro my post with the meme, then post something worth reading about the results! This may turn into a really good writing exercise -- or maybe not.
So, here goes:
Stepping Heavenward, by Elizabeth Prentiss
Page 161, 5th full sentence:
“Next to that, if I could have one thing more, I would choose to be a thoroughly unselfish, devoted wife.”
Digging to America, by Anne Tyler
Page 161, 5th full sentence:
“But the song she had selected seemed anything but a dirge, with its jaunty, perky melody and its chorus of Oo-la-la-la-la’s.”
You know, it strikes me that both of these quotes reflect something about attitude – unselfish, devoted, perky, jaunty, even melody – all speak of a heart attitude that I need to cultivate.
For me, it’s occasionally a challenge to stay upbeat, perky, cheerful. I surrender quite easily to stress, and selfishness. I rather like having my way too much, and get out of sorts when the needs, demands, or presence of others ruffle my feathers. It’s true too often.
Maybe it’s PMS; maybe it’s middle-agedness; maybe it’s just a lousy attitude. But I know it is something in me that cries for more discipline, because I do long, like Katherine in “Stepping Heavenward” to be a “thoroughly unselfish, devoted wife” and mother. I spend my days at home, with three teenagers. We homeschool, and though they have many friends and are all members of the work force, they still spend a great deal of time with each other, and with me. One of the things you learn, spending all your time with the same people, is that any attitude, good or bad, can be contagious.
Stepping outside of my selfish self, I find that my heart does so want to project a self-less, generous, and patient attitude with them.I want my family to love being here, in our home – and to be truthful, the atmosphere is usually dictated by my heart attitude. Oh, Father, let it be an atmosphere of love.
You know what else? I find that the quickest way to adjust the thermostat on my heart is through music. Right now I am in love with Chris Tomlin’s CDs, and my ipod and stereo are playing his new album more than any other.
The song "Amazing Grace" holds great significance for me. It is a treasure because it is my Mimi’s favorite. It is one of the few ways to get her attention through the fog that prevents her from recognizing her loved ones. When someone sings "Amazing Grace", this quiet, beautiful woman begins to awaken. She remembers. She ‘sings’ along.
My true heart’s desire is to be a billboard of mercy. I want people whose lives intersect with mine to clearly see God’s mercy – His amazing grace – all over my life. I want them to know that this same mercy is theirs, freely offered.
Chris Tomlin’s new version of Amazing Grace contains a chorus:
My chains are gone
I’ve been set free
My God, My Savior
Has ransomed me
And like a flood
His mercy reigns
When I hear it, I can help but to sing along – aloud – my heart cries out with these words. My chains are gone.
Washed away in a flood of mercy, love, grace.
That is amazing.
When I focus on his mercy, my attitude softens, it’s easier to love, to be patient, to be self-less.
Sing it again, Chris!
P.S. The_Queen_Bea, SimpliciTea, some1krazy, mamaglop, and The_Fluff_of_Steve – TAG, You’re It!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Wow! It’s been a while since I posted a Thankful Thursday post. I woke up this morning thinking about it, and decided today was a good day to be thankful. So, here goes:
I am especially thankful today for the excellent bloggers I’ve “met” in the blog-o-sphere. When I need a laugh, or some encouragement I know I can count on the fact that there are at least 50 posts waiting to be read in my bloglines (subscriptions) list. It’s like group therapy!
So, rather than list all my subscriptions in my thankful list, I thought I’d link to some really great posts I read this week.
Also, SEVERAL weeks ago (hanging head in shame for taking so long to acknowledge this kindness) my friend Deena awarded me the “Thinking Blogger” Award.
What an honor. I look around at all the blogs out there, and it baffles me that anyone can even find my site, much less find their way back. This award has been making the rounds for a while now, and I think I’ve seen it on many of the blogs I read. So, instead of awarding it to individual bloggers who haven’t received it yet, let me say that I’d award it to everyone on this thankful list, whether they’ve already been awarded with it or not.
So, here are the blogs I’m thankful for today!
1. I read this awesome post this week, and laughed while I ouched! It’s a good lesson from a beautiful little red-bird – my favorite bird in all creation.
2. One of my close blogging friends is The_Queen_Bea on xanga. She is a sweetie, deluxe! I always enjoy reading her site.
3. This one was good for a giggle on a day when I was really frustrated with life and all it’s demands. I hope it makes you smile, too!
4. Of course, I had to include my new buddy Deena in this list. She brightens my day with great comments, insightful posts, and even checks up on me when I’m experiencing ‘writer’s block’. Gotta love the girl! This story is an amazing one, and I can’t wait to see it published with adorable little illustrations and all!
5. Elise over at A Path Made Straight always inspires me. This post brought tears to my eyes.
6. Mamaglop is a kindred spirit! Her posts are full of wit and nostalgia. I loved her recent paper towel posts. You can read them here.
7. This blogger reminds me every month to take care of myself. I’m a member of Holy Mama’s Club 17, are you?
8. Shannon over at Rocks in My Dryer is always good for a mid-day laugh break. But what I love about her blog lately is that she helps me keep track of all of the LOST mysteries! I thought of her last night while I was shouting at the television during the season finale. Here’s her take on last night’s show:
9. Now when I want a really huge, spit and sputter, tears in your eyes, roll-in-the-floor-and-moan-until-the-teenagers-realize-it’s-not-their-ipod-
noise music-they-are-hearing-but-the-sounds-of-someone-in-severe-agony-and-come-to-check-on-me laugh -- I go to BooMama. Her posts never fail to get me right where I need it! But this week it was a post that pricked my heart and brought a different kind of tears to my eyes.
10. Finally, I so enjoy reading Ree’s posts over at Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. Her photos are amazing, and her stories are always good for a smile!
You can read more great Thankful Thursday Posts by clicking Iris' beautiful button at the top of this post and heading over to her site.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
There were clues, but I didn’t put the pieces together. First there was the toad. He looked a little like this:
Minding his own business, hopping across the sidewalk in my front yard. He wasn’t a very friendly toad, but looking back, I think he was on a mission, a journey, a road trip. And you know how cranky we can get when we’ve been traveling too long.
Then yesterday while I was on the phone with my father, I noticed something small and reptilian-looking in the grass. Upon further investigation I found this little guy:
And not far away I also discovered this beauty:
I thought they belonged to the adorable little neighborhood children who love to play in my driveway and front yard. But now I’m not so sure.
You see, last night my sixteen-year-old son discovered and captured (for purposes of scientific observation) a prehistoric-looking reptile that looked a bit like this guy:
And that’s not the half of the story. This clever little critter, a young garter snake of about twelve inches, decided at about nine o’clock yesterday evening that he was tired of his captivity, and Escaped. Into. My. Living. Room.
What a cause for celebration! Yup! Yup! Yup!
We spent a couple of hours among upturned couches and recliners, checking dark corners, nooks and crannies – and we found two stray socks, sixty-eight cents in loose change, a stray remote control, and NO SNAKE.
Oh happy day – because I just love me some reptiles!
We went to bed hoping that our skinny little friend had found a way out of the house, and I secretly hoped that in the event that he hadn’t, our predatory cats would hunt him down and --- er, um, you know – escort him out of the house via whatever exit first presented itself.
It wasn’t until I lay in bed this morning, in that fuzzy pre-awake state of actual brain activity, that I realized what was going on here. Evidently our home was built right in the middle of one of those pre-historic reptile migration routes, and we’ve been witness to a mass exodus for parts known only to our scaly little friends.
It has all the makings of a great Disney adventure: cute little reptiles, drama, suspense, danger, and (hopefully) a happy ending. Which is almost assured -- as long as I don’t find a half-eaten garter snake outside my bedroom door any time soon – deposited there, I’m sure, by my great feline hunters.
Cue the music.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I love water.
I love to drink water. I love to take showers. I love to swim in water. I love to walk in the rain. I love to watch water boiling on the stovetop. I love squirt-guns, as long as they’re not pointed at me. I even save water in empty gallon milk jugs so I can water my plants whenever the fancy strikes me. My mom says it’s good to let the chlorine evaporate out of the water for a few days – sounds good to me. Plus I like the way my surplus water stash looks in my laundry room next to the washing machine.
My husband brings me bottled water by the case. Whatever’s cheapest at the grocery store is fine with me; but I like Dasani, Aquafina, Fiji, Ozarka, I’ll even drink tap water if I have to. Right now I have a case of Nestle Pure Life water sitting in my laundry room, too. (Yes, Nestle, the chocolate people – I love chocolate – but that’s another post altogether.) Every morning I set aside four or five sixteen-ounce bottles for the day. Most days I even drink them all.
On the way to church Sunday morning, I forgot to grab a water bottle, so my sweetheart husband stopped by Quick Trip to get me a bottle of Ozarka. They have these new, cool flip-tops with easy-flow spouts. (Do you think I could work in advertising?) I thought it was just the niftiest thing since bottled water! So, when I empty a bottle of Nestle Pure Life water, I rinse that easy flow flip top thingie, and screw it atop the next one. It makes drinking my water so much more fun!
I find myself thinking, occasionally, about the simple gift that water is. It’s elemental. No additives or preservatives. It’s a key ingredient in most yummy drinks and many foods. It cools you, cleans you, satisfies you. Isn’t God a genius to make something so amazing as water for you and me?
You know, in the Bible I find that the Word of God itself is compared to water in Ephesians 5:26, and so is Jesus Christ in John chapter 4. It’s true, that nothing satisfies my thirst like a bottle of pure water, and nothing satisfies my inner thirst like some time with Jesus in His Word. He washes me. He quenches my thirst. We even have fun!
Ahhh. Isn’t it amazing what a little water will do?
Friday, May 18, 2007
I love my TiVo! I think I’ve declared my passion here before, but I had to say it again. Right now my box is overloaded with recordings of season finales just waiting to be watched. While we were gone on vacation last week, all those great shows just piled up in its’ memory and they’ve been waiting for me to watch them.
So I’ve spent the past few days enjoying the last “7th Heaven” and the last “Gilmore Girls”, catching up on my favorite game show, “Deal or No Deal”, and of course, watching “LOST”, “Numb3rs”, “Deadliest Catch, “CSI”, and “Criminal Minds”. In fact, I’ve watched so much TiVo my brain is suffering from pause / rewind / replay withdrawl.
While sitting at the dinner table with my family tonight, enjoying lots of laughter and conversation, I found myself thinking in the back of my mind “pause, rewind, and replay." Listening to the radio in the car, I am distracted by a call on my cell phone, and catch myself searching the radio dials for the rewind button so I can hear my favorite song again.
Do you ever wish you could stop time and replay the best parts again?
In this spring full of season finales I find myself wishing for a few more episodes – not of “LOST” or “Gilmore Girls” (though that would be very cool!) but a few more family dinners with everyone around the table, a few more giggles and inside jokes, a few more days with my kids before they run out the door and this season ends.
Sometimes, when there’s no room on the TiVo, or it’s already busy recording something else, I find a great program to watch LIVE. There’s no pausing, no rewinding, no replay -- just me on the couch, with my full attention on the screen. It’s good for me to me reminded that I have to focus fully so I don’t miss anything. I’d hate to miss the chance to make memories in this season. So, I think I’ll go have a chat with my son, before he sneaks away.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Not too long ago I did a little writing exercise called "Where I'm From". It was a really great journey into what makes up the person I am. I, of course, sent copies to my parents and siblings. My kids and niece decided to write their own pieces, and my Mom and I discussed a family project that would compile "Where I'm From" pieces spanning four generations. I'd link the post that started it all here, but it's late and I don't really relish the thought of falling asleep at my keyboard. So, if you can't find it via the archives, let me know in the comments, and I'll link you.
So, every year my grandfather's siblings and all their kids, grandkids, and descendants meet for a weekend in Texas -- it's the Thurman Family Reunion. My mother is in charge of the yearly letter reminding everyone to come, and we also submit a scrapbook of the previous year's event for the arts and crafts auction that helps pay for expenses, food, etc. The scrapbook and helping make the letter look snazzy are my job.
Mom wanted to include a "Where Thurmans Are From" poem with this year's letter, so she spent several days gathering information from her siblings, my grandfather, her aunts and uncles and her own memories. This weekend I compiled them all into a poem, and I just stuffed the last envelope with this year's letter to go out in the mail tomorrow morning.
I don't know why anyone would be particularly interested in the piece, except that the random, every-day things that go into who we are and will continue to become might spark some memories for others. So, if some part of this poem jogs your memory or takes you on a journey into the past then I'll feel really good about posting it here.
If not, it would be nice if somebody would at least stroke my ego by telling me what a
literary poetic genius I am. I know, don't tell my Mom I'm acting so shameless!
Where Thurmans are From
Thurmans are from the smell of freshly plowed dirt, the sight of a cotton field in bloom and half-circle puddles of sand blown in under the crack of every door and window.
We’re from the sight of lightning far across the Texas prairie, signaling the coming rain and from waiting out the storm in the cellar with Aunt Ann and a deck of cards.
Thurmans are from the smell and the sound of a John Deere tractor, the rumble of the train where Granddad worked, the project, the farm and the sounds of Stonewall Jackson and Elvis on the record player at Thurman Drug.
We’re from, Nanny’s beans and cornbread, Grandad’s vegetable garden and roast on the table for every Sunday dinner; from home-made ice cream at Aunt Claudine and Uncle Edwin’s, Aunt Ann’s enchiladas and Aunt Betty’s home-made cakes.
Thurmans are from summer afternoons shelling black-eyed peas under a tree or on the porch, dragging cotton sacks bigger than we were, and scraping black walnuts on Nanny and Grandad’s cellar door; from swimming in the orange-tinted mud of a cleachy pit.
We’re from castor oil for your stomach, Vick’s salve for your sore throat and black draught for a cold; from kerosene for cuts and scrapes and good ole’ monkey’s blood.
We’re from a package of Bull Durham tobacco with cigarette papers on the side, snuck when Granddad wasn’t looking, a handful of dried apricots swiped from the 25# box and Prince Albert in a can.
Thurmans are from gathering eggs in the chicken house, milking in the cow barn and feeding calves from a can with a nipple on the side.From the texture of sheets dried on the clothesline and flour sack dish towels.
We’re from both dinner and supper cooking on the stove in the late morning, so the house will be cool in the afternoon; from washing dishes as you go, dinner covered with dishtowels, waiting for hungry men to come eat.From plates turned upside-down on bowls to keep out the sand and aprons fanning away the flies.
Thurmans are from the black International pick-up and the old gray Plymouth, from irrigation ditches, Texas Forty-Two on a card table in the living room, and a farm tractor ride from Happy to Ropes in a Navy uniform.
We’re from the sweet smoky smell of a pipe being lit and re-lit and the tapping sound of knocking out the tobacco; from Grandad sitting at the table turned sideways, with crossed legs, huge ears and huge hands, fingers drumming on the table.
Thurmans are from poodle skirts and penny loafers, dragging Dip, RC Cola and Coca Cola, and walking to the post office for Aunt Ann’s mail; from family reunions in Mackenzie Park, eating outside with all of the cousins, sneaking off to the rodeo, and sitting on the bed listening to records.
We’re from “A man is only as good as his word”, “a little hard work ain’t gonna hurt ya” and “it don’t cost nothin’ to speak”; from the Baptist church, paying what you owe and voting democratic.
Thurmans are from coffee around the kitchen table and teaching your sons to be gentlemen; from “Yes Ma’am” and “No Sir” and treating your mama like a lady.
We’re from Texas, and from knowing what that means, from the middle of the road, knowing where you stand, doing what’s right no matter what the cost, and family.
And if you made it all the way through that one, you should read the "Where I'm From" piece my seven year old neice wrote. It's amazing!
Where I’m From
I’m from Anet Tanna’s games
and Mamma’s makaroney.
And Im’ from Daddy’s rasleing.
And eating apples and peanut butter with Bradley.
And I’m from Grandma’s card game’s.
I’m from playing hide and seek,
and I’m from Anet’s Tanna’s bookmarks.
I’m from Aunt Tauna’s games,
And Mama’s macaroni.
And I’m from Daddy’s wrestling,
And eating apples and peanut butter with Bradley.
And I’m from Grandma’s card games.
I’m from playing hide and seek,
And I’m from Aunt Tauna’s bookmarks.
And now you know where the real poetic genius lies. (I taught her everything I know, including the importance of really nifty beaded bookmarks!)
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Well, I did it.
I noticed a gray hair shining against my normally brunette locks, and instead of plucking it out of my head, as I have for more than 8 years, I just left it alone.
Am I getting old?
I noticed my first gray hair on my sister’s wedding day. I don’t think there was any connection…really. But I was only thirty-two years old. I thought that was kind of young for gray. But I plucked it out, showed my sister, and we laughed over it. And I’ve been plucking gray hairs ever since.
It used to be that I’d find a gray hair in the mirror once every couple of months, then one or two a month. Now it’s up to every two or three days -- all in the same general area – shiny, coarse, and right on the top of my head. Pluck, pluck, pluck…and life goes on.
But this morning as I was brushing my hair, I saw another one. And I thought…”What’s the use? I’ll just find another one tomorrow.” So, I pulled my hair back in a clip, brushed my teeth, and started my day. But it’s niggling there in the back of my mind. Not the fact that there’s a gray hair there on the top of my head, but the fact that I left it. I quit fighting, quit plucking, and just accepted it.
Who knows, maybe I’ll just pluck it tomorrow with any others that I find. Or maybe not. But I think I’m resigned to the passage of time, and the onset of middle-aged-ness. Sigh. And I guess, in a way, that’s a good thing. Might as well celebrate the joy of life right where I am, right?
And maybe I’ll just start buying brunette-in-a-bottle.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
That’s it. I’ve been stuck in a rut of ‘busy’, and when it comes time to think / write, I find I’m exhausted and can’t come up with anything to say. Of course, looking at the list of subscriptions overflowing my inbox, I guess I must have reader’s block, too.
I’ve said it before – life is about seasons. And it really is true. This spring has been one of those busy seasons, full of activities, responsibilities, and a little bit of fun to keep me from going under, (more about that later.) I really miss my blog, and know it’s way past time to post when I find I’m dreaming posts in my sleep, and waking to grab a pencil and jot down a few strange lines – hoping to decipher and remember them until I get a few minutes to write.
Things are in a state of flux around here, one son is preparing to leave our home and move back to his mother’s. I spend much of my time grading his school work, and trying to get his transcript together so he can continue his race for a high-school diploma elsewhere. In addition, the other two students, my oldest son and middle daughter, are finishing up their school year, and my oldest son’s decision to do school through the summer and graduate early has doubled my lesson planning / assignment grading workload. But I am happy to do whatever it takes to get him on the road to his future. He is leaving for an internship with Teen Mania Ministries in August of 2008. Then there’s my oldest daughter, college student, full-time waitress, she lives and breathes music, and runs from coffee shop to concert hall to get her fix. She still needs me, occasionally. It’s nice.
Husband, kids, life -- busy. Writer’s block. That’s it. Well, maybe.
I decided several weeks ago that I was going to take my writing seriously, and discipline myself to write consistently. I work part time for a publisher, and we talked at length about my passion, my story, and what impact I hoped to have on the world with my writing. I was inspired! But I think I let self-conscious fear tie my fingers in knots. Yes, life got incredibly demanding, but I let it. I have been stalling, and second guessing myself. But I’m determined that I will write – regularly – and maybe, just maybe, my passion, my story, will spill out onto the page and affect someone in this world beside me. That is my hope.
So, I will write. And if the
three two-and-one-half people who actually read my blog have been wondering where I am, there’s your answer. I hope you’ll be reading more of me in the future. Either way, I’ll be writing more of me, of that you can be sure.