Flying By the Seat of My Pants
The summer I was fourteen, I crossed into Central America using a fake ID. It wasn’t the birth date on the ID that was fake (in Mexico, if somebody wanted to get their lips on a non-virgin pina colada, they
And Bichon Makes Three!
The night Tiffany was delivered, my husband and I crouched over her bed, lovingly watching as she nestled down in the covers and made soft whining sounds.“Despite having fangs and no opposable thumbs, isn’t she just perfect?” I breathed. My
Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong
It almost felt like we were Peeping Toms as my husband and I clustered around the computer screen, avidly watching the most intimate details of this young family’s life for the twentieth time in less than ten days. We laughed
Pray It Forward
I’d passed her before. In the fiercest of elements, I had driven right passed the elderly woman carrying a sack of groceries bigger than she was. I’d always wanted to stop, but somehow an excuse always presented itself: the Jeep
Living Up To My Hair Color
Considering I coined the phrase, “I’m not the sharpest Crayon in the box,” my blunder at Union Bank shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anybody, especially me. But early Thursday morning, when my husband said that Douglas McCallister’s deposit
And the Biological Clock Starts Ticking…
As the sun-starved trees burst into bloom and the woodland creatures start kicking up their heels, batting their twitterpated eyes and getting frisky, in the background one can hear the unmistakable tickings of a biological clock.But it isn't mine. Oh,
For Better or Worse
If my husband knew the date he was going to die, he’d probably slink off into the woods like my childhood cat Bootsie and would never be seen or heard from again. Me? I’d want Rose Bowl Parade floats and a
Life Is Beautiful
Apocalypse! War! Rations! Raids! These words affect me like the ringing of Pavlov’s bell; and although I do not drool or crouch in a corner at the utterance of them, sometimes I come mighty close. I don’t know why I am
Hope Is a Thing With Pages
"Hope is the thing with feathers - / That perches in the soul - / And sings the tune without the words - / And never stops - at all -"~Emily DickinsonThis week I attended an author luncheon in Nashville.
The Curse of an Overactive Imagination
All my life I’ve suffered from an overactive imagination. At six years old, sitting in our station wagon outside Herndon’s Market, I became convinced that the tattooed men getting out of their truck were on their way to kidnap me. Leaning over