As I sat talking with some friends at dinner, I heard in the background someone state, “Great! More quinoa!”
“Nooooo! No! No! No! No,” replied my brain.
“Nooooo! No! No! No! No,” replied my mouth.
And that’s when I knew I was overdrawn on my soul. Continue reading
Sitting in one of my kitchen drawers is an inch-high, red plastic cylinder that stands upon a white base about an inch and a half wide. On the top of this cylinder is a white, spring-loaded concave dome with a hole in the center. When this dome is pressed, a needle pokes above about a centimeter through the center hole.
My husband was first introduced to this item in an unfriendly way. Reaching into the drawer blindly for another item, he took hold of the object and pressed upon the top. “Ouch!” What medieval torture device was I hiding in the kitchen? Continue reading
What dreams have you had for your life? Which ones have stayed with you? Which ones have you let fade to the background?
I have recently had two events happen that have caused me to think about my own dreams for my life in new ways. Continue reading
I don’t like doing dishes.
Even as I write this, I have a pots and pans from dinner two nights ago still on the stove and a handful in the sink. (As much as I don’t like dishes, I like a filled sink even less. How can one clean the dishes when they are spilling over the confinements of the metal basin?)
This wasn’t necessarily always the case. As a young child Continue reading
Bonnie exuded difference. Now in a high school freshman biology class, this may not seem that unique. Who isn’t trying to find a fresh way to express themselves? To be set apart from the crowd in some way?
But Bonnie was different in that these thoughts never seemed to cross her mind. She was at ease in her own skin, and that peace of mind radiated from her. Quite a feat for most adults, nevertheless a fourteen year old. To a ninth grader, her peaceful and old-soul presence made you feel like you were sitting near Gandhi. Continue reading
“You sound like angels.”
My grandmother spoke these words to my three sisters and I one Christmas morning when I was about seven. We weren’t singing Handel’s Messiah or even singing in key. We were screeching out various children’s Christmas songs in order to wake up our parents so that we might leave the shackles of our stairwell constraint and go open gifts in the family room. Continue reading