Saturday, July 30, 2016

Joy is found in simple moments if our eyes and our hearts are open. Today, from the back porch of what will soon be our new home, I watched nine deer amble across the hay field, just about 75 yards from where I stood, only the white board fence separating us.

I awoke, slightly bleary-eyed from not nearly enough sleep, and headed for the kitchen one morning last week.

While some kids played house, I remember playing railroad hobo with my sisters and our cousins. Our maternal grandparents, Henry and Mabel Tucker, lived on a nice, small horse farm on the outskirts of Ashland.

I spent Friday night with a singing farmer's daughter and it was the most fun I've had in a very long time.

I found out something this past week that sort of has me stumped. I am addicted to oil. Now, I am trying to figure out how this happened.

I found myself playing referee yesterday, standing in the middle of a cat and dog fight. The scrappers were not a dog and a cat, as you might suspect, but two humans with strong opinions on canine and feline superiority.

It strikes me as a bit humorous that everything old has become new again in many segments of our society.

There are few things in life more difficult than saying that final goodbye. When my father-in-law passed away unexpectedly in 1997, my husband said the suddenness of his passing was difficult to grasp, and yet a blessing in its quickness.

Every time I hear those opening lyrics, "the hills are alive with the sound of music" I feel compelled to stop what I am doing and sing along.

Tell the truth. Especially to yourself. This brief directive came to me by way of a gift from a co-worker, a book titled Lists to Live By.
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