Like most people, I have climbed a lot of hills in my life.
Actually, I probably haven’t climbed as many as most people, but I’ve climbed my share.
I climbed the stairs up one of the Kolomoki mounds in Georgia once.
I stood on the top and felt proud of myself.
I’ve been to Capitol Hill.
I guess I could write about those hills, but I’d rather tell you about how a hill helped me get healthier.
These are careful times.
From the second the news of the coronavirus pandemic broke, we have sought and soaked up information about a novel sickness.
Several times today, Memorial Day, my mind has drifted to one evening almost a year ago.
When I was 9, my parents went to Graceland.
They left a brochure from the mansion on the table one day.
I read it, and I was an Elvis fan.
I ran out of time today so this will be a short post.
I told you.
This post is a response to Sue’s prompt, which is “short.”
The signs are everywhere.
The next step in the new normal has begun.
A name means a lot.
It is a badge of individuality carried throughout a life.
Flowers have perplexed me for a long time.
Not the actual plants and petals of them, but the tendency to give them as gifts for a certain holiday or other occasion.
For most of my life, I wondered why men rushed to the florist to buy a bouquet.
It didn’t seem quite right to profess undying love with flowers which would, in fact, die.
I like my job, I like my coworkers and I like my check.
There’s no reason to wish the workday away, but often I wish it’d hurry by anyway.
The world is a noisy place, and the older I get the more I understand there’s a lot to be said for silence.