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Showing posts from 2017

The Spring Without Water

“One a ponce a time” was the way most bedtime stories began in our house when my children were young.   Everyone wanted to contribute to the story and my tiny girl began each one with that exact opener.   It was usually followed by tales of unicorns, rainbows and superhuman powers of invisibility and metamorphosis.    Today’s story fittingly deserves that very perfect beginning…. One a ponce a time, a tired mom went to battle with the water company.   It was a mighty beast with no unicorns or rainbows anywhere to be found.   The mom, me, would pay the bill, but the evil water company would still send its henchman to cut off my nice flow of cool, clean water that should have been headed into our home.   People certainly had to have doubted my tales of payment and probably wondered why I had not simply paid the bill.   Through clenched fists and frustration tempered only by the desire to be heard, I would explain to the water company that my check had been cashed and yet, I still had

The Little Woman At the Edge of the Wood

    As the night sky politely gave way to the morning who stretched and yawned and filled the sky with her glowing pinks and soft orange colors, the world at the edge of the wood began to wake up.  Rabbit in his tiny hutch nudged the other bunnies right out of their bed as he, too, stretched and yawned and reached much farther than the corners of his bed.  As he lay there, all stretchy and warm, he listened through sleepy ears for the soft rain of sunflower seeds and dried corn that sprinkled down on his house each morning.       It was the little old lady who lived at the edge of the wood who made sure rabbit and friends had plenty to eat.  She came to her porch every morning as the sun rose softly above the pine trees and reached into a bucket of seeds and grains, scooping up a cup of breakfast for the animals who lived near.  The porch door would creak as she stepped outside and with all the might she could muster, she would toss the seeds into the woods where they fe

Searching for Me

In twelve days, my youngest child moves out and moves to college.  The house will never be the same.  I am excited for her, but I worry what comes next in my life story designed entirely around my children.  I'm not sure how to take center stage in a house soon set for two.  I find myself Googling distractions that I'm keenly aware will never fill the void.  Had I been online a day earlier, I would have purchased a 45 foot 1979 Gibson Houseboat.  Thank God, someone purchased it before I did.  I've looked at lake condos, sports cars, cabins off the grid, all which appeal to my sense of needing to find a hobby that has nothing to do with carrying kids to singing lessons, cheer practice, tutoring, or school.   I've watched Youtube videos on how to remove the popcorn texture from ceilings and plan to duct tape a 6 inch scraper to my husband's wet-vac and pretend I know what I'm doing.  I've learned to play enough piano to make me fun at a party, but frightenin

Dueling Tomatoes

Southern women grow tomatoes. It's what they do.  Whether they like them or not, tradition dictates that they don a floppy hat and dig in the dirt.  I have failed at my duty to produce any red, ripe delicious tomatoes. This year will be different! My plan began with eyeballing a spot on the pool deck and deciding exactly where one fancy plant would grow under my careful watch.  It would be protected from the woodland creatures that eat everything in our real garden and would be close enough to the water hose to allow me to keep it hydrated and happy. My husband watched as I planted my single tomato plant and questioned what I was doing.  "We have a full garden of tomato plants," he reminded me.  The problem is the fact that he is an overzealous gardener and when the first sign of a beefy boy tomato shows, he picks it while green and delivers miniature tomatoes to my kitchen.  I simply want one fully developed, red, ripe tomato. "I'm suppose to grow tomato