Some of my fondest memories growing up in the late 70s was when my daddy took on the role of “human jukebox.” We didn’t call it that back then, but that’s what he did. We’d all sit around the turntable as he’d carefully slip away the album cover and then cajole the album from its sleeve. There in his deep, olive hands would gleam black, shiny vinyl. Daddy would ever so gently place the album onto the turntable and guide the arm to the exact spot that would play his song of choice. As the song wound down, he’d reverse the process and then start over with the next song on his “playlist.” We’d do this for hours. Read more
Until last year when my husband and I moved to Minneapolis, I had never lived more than a few hours from “home” – meaning the place where I was born and raised. To be honest, Minneapolis would have been pretty far down a list of choice relocations. No offense to Minnesota, but locales like Key West, San Diego, or Honolulu would have been more prominent in my imagination. Those were not options.
So, I suited up with my best “let’s-make-the-best-of-it” attitude and bought a heavy coat and a pair of snow boots. Confession – my “let’s-make-the-best-of-it” attitude was really more of a “let’s-get-through-this-as-quickly-as-possible-and-get-back-home” attitude until I received a great piece of advice from someone who had moved around a lot – “Make Minneapolis home.” Essentially, make friends and build relationships even though you know that you may not have all of the time you’d like to build those relationships fully. Read more
Sometimes change is great – like when a vacation is just around the corner. Or when you finally get around to organizing the garage. Other times, change is just hard and unwelcomed. I’m the kind of person who prefers to see what is coming. I love surprises but it’s better if I know what it is first. I like to put on a front about how I roll with the punches, but really – I don’t like punches. And, I certainly don’t like it when the punches force me to make unwanted changes. Read more
As I write this blog entry, the city of New Orleans is marking the thirteenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. On August 29, 2005, Katrina came ashore just east of the city. For those of us in the area, we breathed a sigh of collective relief as peril appeared to skirt around us.
Then . . . the levees broke. Read more
These days, everyone seems to rely on some form of electronic map to get from Point A to Point B. Not only do these systems direct you “left” and “right,” they chirp cheerfully when traffic builds up or a cop is ahead. No matter how sophisticated the chirp or the English accent of the system – at some point, each one will send you in the wrong direction. Sometimes they may be off by a street or two. Sometimes, more. Once, I ended up at a similar address that was forty-five minutes from where I was supposed to be. Sometimes, you are led the wrong-way up a one-way street or land at a dead end.
You’ve been there. What’d you do? If like most people, you just pull to the side of the road and set up camp. That’s right. Pull a tent out of the back of the car. Lay down roots Make a new home. Yep -right there in front of the sign reading “No Outlet – Dead End.” Read more
On July 24, 2018, Tahlequah (aka J35) gave birth to a beautiful baby calf, sending waves of joy throughout the Pacific Northwest. Tahlequah is one of only about seventy-five remaining members of a species of endangered whales. The region’s (and now an international following’s) joy was soon doused in a tsunami of grief with the untimely death of the calf barely thirty minutes after birth. Tahlequah went into full-on-momma-whale mode. For over a week now, the endangered killer whale has been “tending” to her dead calf – meaning she refuses to let go, literally.
For days, she has pushed the deceased calf through the water with her forehead. Tahlequah has carried the calf by its fin. When tides and currents pull the calf’s body under the surface, Tahlequah musters the kind of strength only a parent can and dives deep into the belly of the sea to retrieve her lost baby. Read more
Have you ever been faced with a scary or confusing situation and didn’t have the words to deal with it? There was one evening when the girls were very young that their Mimi babysat. When I picked them up to go home, I noticed that the television was set to The Exorcist. Shame on me for not asking the girls how they felt about what they might have seen, but kudos to Megan who at the wise-old age of four had the courage to open up the conversation. Her simple question exposed her confusion and fright, “Mommy, do devils eat little girls?” My response came too quickly to have been my own, as I blurted, “Not if you have Jesus in your heart.” That evening, we modified the words of our bedtime prayer from “deliver us from evil” to “deliver us from the devil.” Read more