Surprised by a large animal trotting rapidly in front of my van when I turned in our driveway, I slowed to get a good look.
It seems a shame to begin thinking of Christmas before Thanksgiving has come and gone, but that is just what I’ve done for more years now than I care to keep track of.
We often feel nostalgic and take time for reflection at holiday time. I hope you’ll take some time for this poem.
It’s tough to eat right in the average American home these days. Although most of us know we should balance meals consuming more from the fruit and vegetable groups than all the rest combined, it’s a tough task to accomplish.
I visited my daughter Josie at an off-campus apartment she shares in Kent. I packed several things they could use and while I gathered her mail and a book she requested from home, I threw in a couple of plastic shopping bags full of slightly used Halloween decorations that Kathie brought home from her school’s blood drive for the Red Cross.
Eating healthy is important for everyone, especially for people with diabetes because the type and amounts of food can have a great impact on your blood glucose (sugar).
I passed the heavy “Cast Only” doors and muted harmony drifted from behind them, voices warming up. In the theater’s darkened balcony, I sat down beside my spotlight.
My friend Judi and I discussed plans for our club: delegating, decorating, and, of course, our talks almost always lead to food.
I received the following essay, which was attributed to comedian George Carlin, but it turns out he had nothing to do with the piece.
My voice echoed in my daughter’s half-empty room when I called out to Mark, “Yes, I think we’ve packed everything.
Planning a float for a parade is no small task. My women’s club borrowed a 6-by-8 wooden trailer that would be towed by a Suburban.
Simply stated, I haven’t learned to say “No.” I’m not complaining; I just need to explain that I’m spread as thin as I can be.
The plucky planter on the back of our bathroom commode still makes me feel appreciated. It arrived at our house one morning in early June.
Night sounds intensify as August draws to a close. Though a cooler night air usually means a more comfortable night’s sleep, the sounds of singing crickets and katydids always wash me with a bit of melancholy since I associate them with starting back to school.
“You just can’t imagine what loneliness is,” Dad confessed quietly as he eased his way off our deck that has needed new steps since we moved in (has it really been 13 years?).
Our family has never felt compelled to do “back to school” shopping like some, but since Kathie’s lunch bag from last year is worn and stained, during a weak moment in Wal-Mart, I opted to pick up an insulated hot pink bag and a coordinated water bottle that slides neatly inside.
“Down to the cellar, come let us go Where fruit jars like this are lined up in a row Potatoes like this are stacked up in a bin With cabbages so fat and celery so thin.
“Step, kick, kick, cross-back, step, step; repeat, kick, kick, cross-back.” I heard my daughter practicing in her room.
The first berries I helped pick, when I was a kid, were strawberries. Makes sense. Close to the ground, easy to reach, I loved to eat them, but they still make my arms itch.
Everything off the grill is a special treat, maybe in part because a cookout usually means we’re gathered with family and friends.