When I was a kid, I hit a phase when I wanted a pen pal.
Maybe I was intrigued with the possibility of communication with a person somewhere in the wide world beyond the limits of the map dot I call home.
I was still young enough to get mail sent by someone who didn’t want my money so maybe it was the childish thrill of a letter addressed to me and hidden, like a surprise, in the mailbox.
I do not hurry well.
I never have, and I guess I never will.
I’m not built for it, and I’m glad.
Years ago, a child asked me what I wished.
Back then I never put much thought into wishes – at least not wishes I’d tell a child – so I said I didn’t know.
The child wondered out loud why I wouldn’t wish my legs worked right.
For the second time in four days, Kentucky flies by me in a blur of white lines and road signs.
Road trips are another story for another day, though, because today is someone’s birthday. (more…)
I planned to discuss Mount Rushmore in this column.
Instead, I wrote about stairs, persistence and two people I met in an old graveyard.
I realize those sentences don’t make sense so here’s a little backstory. (more…)
Last week, I was nearly pushed over the edge. (more…)