My Angel's Whispers

The Blank Canvas

This morning I had cats and coffee in the back yard.  Since Henry still thinks fences are for climbing, a great deal of cat herding is usually required,  but the morning is still my favorite time of day.

I walked down the damp brick sidewalk and stepped into the gazebo.  On a pollen covered easel right beside the door is a blank canvas.  I bought this particular canvas in 2012, to create a masterpiece for my nephew and his new wife.  It rested silently against the wall in our spare bedroom for the first year.

In 2013, the cardiomyopathy that our Mom had lived with for almost twenty five years eased her from this life and into the next.  I knew that her cats would be coming back to my house and I had asked Mom if I could have the wicker furniture on her porch when she no longer needed it.  I had some strange notion that it would give the cats the feeling of home but only living under the bed for the first year seemed to comfort them. 

We built the gazebo in the fall of 2013 so that the wicker would be protected and create that safe space for remembering that Opie and Elle....and I needed.   

Gazebo Jules' Dad and Sister visited that fall to "see the leaves change one last time". 

In 2014 I bought an easel and created a work space in the gazebo.  The canvas spent the next year waiting. 

In 2015 Paw Paw returned to Heaven, along with our dear friends Donna and Cathy and the canvas continued to wait. 

In 2016 Johnny's health worsened and he had to face the challenges of cardiomyopathy and several hospital stays.  I would sit in the gazebo and whisper prayers to Heaven.  That year I bought a new set of brushes and paint and bees and the canvas waited.

I'm not sure where the last two years went.  Jules spent a great deal of time building a car.  The house required attention... windows and paint and carpet and decluttering.  I dealt with Lyme and Hashimoto's and a wet crawl space and delighted in new babies.  Johnny and Charlie returned to Heaven and the canvas waited.

I sat for a while, staring at the steam rising toward the sunlight.  Leaf shadows slowly formed on the screens and I listened to the cars passing just beyond the fence.  I took a very long look at that very patient canvas. 

It's been a very busy day and sitting here just now, remembering how much I saw in those few moments just before sunrise, I'm thinking that canvas may not be blank at all but a placeholder in time.  A silent reminder that our memories are always with us, colorful and vibrant and indelible and perhaps that is the way it is meant to be.


May 1, 2019

Every breath is a new beginning.

Every moment comes with the gift of choosing.

Twenty-one years ago I stood in the shower, preparing for the work day, looking forward to the weekend with Shannon and Denise.  The water felt wet, Agree shampoo smelled lovely, sunlight was starting to brighten the bathroom, a normal day...until it wasn't.  It didn't hit me like a lightening bolt.  I didn't feel fear or panic.  I simply knew, KNEW, that that was to be my last shower.  I quietly accepted that Friday, May 1, 1998, was my last day on earth and I had to tell everyone that I loved them.  

Shannon was at Mom's.  Jules was sleeping.  I got dressed and went to work.  An ordinary day.  Until it wasn't.

I don't know where the "knowing" came from.  It didn't really overshadow the day.  I had a long conversation with Shannon at lunchtime and we talked about dinner out and a job interview that she had scheduled for Monday.  She told me that she would be home when I got there.  She told me she loved me.  She never said it first, and the "knowing" hit me for the second time. I quickly told her that I loved her too.  Our last words.  How blessed am I?

Shan and Me

Twenty-one years.  I always "knew", from the first moment I held her, looked into those big blue eyes, that if anything ever happened to her, I could not survive.  I know that I was an overprotective, hovering, drive her crazy kind of helicopter Mom, but she was very forgiving.

The truth is that the person I was on May 1, 1998 did die that day...shattered in a million pieces, lost beyond recognition... but somewhere in that darkness I decided that I could not disappoint Shannon, knowing that she would be watching.  I had to let our love find a way to be stronger than my sorrow.

There are so many things that happened over the next few years .... so many people who touched our lives in ways that made miracles undeniable, so many whispers from my Angel, that kept me from the abyss.  

I want to dedicate this year to remembering them.  I want those lives and those generosities of spirit to fill my thoughts and inspire me to discover what comes sixty-five.

When I got up this morning, I didn't want to write.  I wanted to buy a new bra and take the camera out of hiding.  I didn't want to relive the saddest moment of my life.  But I got a text from one of my dearest friends that she was remembering with me, that she had read my blog, that perhaps I might have something to say after all.  Maybe not, but here I am.

I have lived twenty-one years without my best friend, the love of my life.  I wouldn't have believed it possible.  But this life is a gift that we can not take for granted.  There are lilacs to smell, tiny boys to embrace, baby girls who will one day need to learn about fairies, geriatric cats to feed and a husband who has a Corvette to piece together and I plan to be there when it hits the road.  

What did John Lennon say ... " Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."  Maybe so, but plans give me a to-do list.  A list with little boxes that I can check off and feel satisfaction in the action.

Today is my day with Shannon.  The sadness that is a part of every breath, hums quietly beneath my thoughts and I am okay.  I have rediscovered a new, subdued joy that also hums...a slightly different song, a slightly louder song and I am so very grateful for both.

 p.s.  If Angels are aware of blogs... I love you sweet girl !

Here and where you are

Looking back over the last eight months, I am stunned at how quickly it has flown by.  

I have been writing with a pen and paper, quietly, privately, trying to understand my desire to write and the relevance of sharing.  

It all seemed so narcissistic to think that anyone would be interested in my thoughts, my journey, and so I went silent.

This morning, sitting alone in my 'secret garden', I thought about a conversation I had this week with one of my "greats", he's only four.  We had been talking about how much I enjoy my days with him and how happy he always makes me.  

 He asked, "Are you happy at home?"  

I said, " I am.  But I guess sometimes I get a little lonely."

He thought for a minute and asked, " What is lonely?"

I said, " It's how I feel when I am at home and  there is no one around to talk to."

He said, " Like I feel when I'm in time out?"

Amazed at how quickly he had put it all together, I said, "I guess so."

Maybe that's why I decided to consider sharing again.  We need that connection that allows us to be alone but not lonely.  

I'm considering the possibility that my being here, living, loving, learning from four year olds, after losing the light of my life, might offer a whisper of hope to someone just beginning this journey.  

Twenty years is some days, forever, and others...the blink of an eye.

There is a new decal on the rear window of my car, "I exist in two places.  Here and where you are."

I like to imagine that Shannon has the same saying on hers.

Grand canyon


A New Beginning



Resolutions are wonderful.  They give you a starting point, a goal, a hope, something to place on the first line of the blank page.

Yesterday the drier died.  The washer was already on its last rocky spin cycle so we headed to Lowes.  Two hours later we were exhausted but prepared to enter the New Year with new appliances, promised...maybe, to arrive on Tuesday.  So I moved everything from the laundry room into the kitchen, where we were already preparing to add Rev-A-Shelves to our incredibly disorganized kitchen cabinets to clear space for the new cookware I received for my birthday.  Just typing that sentence made me a little breathless and completely exhausted and it's only 9 a.m.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that my helper is in bed with a terrible cold that he probably picked up at Lowes, and there is a worrisome tickling in my own throat and my head is trying to explode even though we were too old to party and welcomed the New Year with a shot of Nyquil and quick pecks on the cheek.

So, before I lose all interest in organizing and clearing a path for tomorrow's delivery, a quick blog ( resolution #1 ), a photograph to cement my commitment to DietBet ( #2 ) and a trip to the shed to find the 33 gallon trash bags, because to truly organize you have to be prepared to "Keep It", "Donate It" or "Toss It" and most of what is filling my kitchen floor belongs to the "Toss It" category !

I'm sure I'm not alone in having high hopes for the year to come.  What gives me comfort is knowing that we are all in this together.  At 63, it's more about accepting the wrinkles, accepting the shifting anatomy, accepting that everything takes longer than it did at 23, accepting Blue Emu's claims for aches, accepting the reality that aging isn't always graceful and after all that accepting...believing, wholeheartedly in the possibility that I can always change what I simply cannot accept !

I love new beginnings and blank pages ~ 

Can't Imagine

I just received my credit card statement with another year's payment for Typepad.   I tried to remember when I last posted something to my blog and realized that it has been way too long.  In trying to reconcile what at first felt like utter laziness, I remembered that I have been putting pen to paper almost everyday...privately, quietly, peacefully...until this morning when I wanted to have coffee with my morning journal and discovered that one of my very helpful furry friends had decided to "mark" it as their own.   

So timing is everything I suppose.  


Yesterday we had two dead oak trees taken down.  Good Fellers Tree Service came to our they have several times in the past.  They had to contract with Americrane to assist.  At 7 a m the crew arrived to set the trees.  At 8 the crane arrived and the anxiety reached full tilt.

There is something surreal about watching a fifty foot oak being lifted over your house.  It had apparently been the victim of "Sudden Oak Death" and within months every leaf had turned brown and the branches dry and brittle started to fall piece by piece.  The second tree, equal in size but heavier and more cumbersome because it was still clinging to life, cleared the peak of the roof and was placed gently onto the street.  

I was not allowed to be in the house, or in the yard, or in the car in the street in front of the house.  I was to stay as far from harms way as possible but not one step further.  It was suggested that I leave... shop or something, but that was NOT going to happen.

I want to make it abundantly clear that my first concern was for the safety of the people working on the trees, but my heart, my memories, my toothbrush and my cats were in the house and I was more than a little anxious that one of the oak trees might also be IN THE HOUSE before the work was complete.

By noon, it was all done.  Except for the wonderful stumps, soon to become fairy houses, you could not tell that they had been there.   Hints of sawdust found their way into the liriope lining the driveway, but no one was hurt, no property was damaged, and we can breathe easier knowing that our dear old oaks won't be coming through the roof.

This morning I was thinking that my life seems to have revolved over the last month around trees, bees and fleas.  The squirrels have left us with a bumper crop of fleas in the back yard and our indoor kitties, out for their morning stroll are picking up every last stray.  The Frontline that our kitties get every month, is apparently no match for the sheer numbers of fleas dancing in our back yard.  Nematodes, Diatomaceous Earth, Vet's Best Peppermint and Eugenol Spray, raking, mowing, blowing and burning, ( to the consternation of the Spotsylvania Volunteer Fire Department ) have offered no relief.  Flea combing the guys morning and night has turned me into the cat's least favorite human and although I have not seen one in the house or on me... I know it is just a matter of time, if I relax even for a moment.

I just ordered more Yard Spray from Drs. Foster and Smith and this time I am going for the big guns, Permethrin, and although I will have to spray after dark to protect the bees... my hope is that in a day or two, I can once again concentrate on the third in my trifecta...Bees.   Also just discovered that by ordering from Drs Foster and Smith instead of Amazon...what was I thinking... I paid twice as much.  Oh well.

So... after all of that whining, the truth is that despite my wet journal, the dead oaks, the swarming bees and the flea bitten cats... I am incredibly grateful that my worries are so small.

 I lost an old friend last week.  He was younger than I am, had family, children, grandchildren and I'm certain, plans and dreams of the many years to come.  We are not guaranteed one breath, one hour, one day... so every one is a gift, and I will think of him and remember my blessings as I dive into my ordinary day with my ordinary cats and their ordinary fleas, and somehow, thinking of my friend, makes it all feel lighter, easier, less burdensome.

It's easy to get lost in the inconveniences.  Think of what we would rather be doing, or not doing, or not worrying or fretting about...but that's life.  It's the man in the parking lot asking for gas money, the clean smell of the laundramat on bedspread day, the extra kind lady working the weekday window at Chick Fil A,  the man at the Post Office who always has a smile and a wink, the videos of our families' little boys and girls as they grow and stretch into each new adventure, the memories of summer afternoons on the porch with iced tea and Shannon and the whispers of sadness that are carried on a passing breeze.  

 We grow into life and if we allow it, life grows into us.  

Just a thought

There are four walls that make my home.  There are doors with locks in three of them.  I have a wonderful fence that Jules and I worked very hard to build to keep our kitties safe. 

 I used to leave my car unlocked in the driveway with my bag inside.  Three times, said bag was stolen.  I know, I should have learned after the first time, but I was na├»ve and live in a lovely subdivision where we all wave to one another and keep an eye on each other and the children, I didn't think I had anything to worry about.  Even the second time I was surprised.  The third time the deputy scolded me and I had to take off the rose colored glasses and get serious about protecting what is important. 

Over the years I have picked up strangers who needed a ride.  Paid an enormous vet bill for a couple who lived under the Rappahannock River bridge.  Took Walking Joe and his dog to a motel and paid for them to stay safe through a winter storm with food and shelter.  I rarely passed a panhandler without offering money for a meal.  I gave to lots of charities and shelters and have adopted nine cats and two dogs over the years.  I always believed that if we are blessed, we share the blessings.

BUT... Every stranger who needs a ride isn't safe.  Helping people who, for whatever reason, choose to live under the bridge and are unable to provide follow up care, will come back for help when infection sets it and safe shelter has been refused.  At 72 Walking Joe had crossed the United States with Cocoa, talking to Angels, trying to understand why his wife and daughter had been killed, but he checked out of his motel early, in an ice storm, and took the money to walk on to North Carolina.

  And when you give twenty dollars to a panhandler on your way into the mall only to be berated and chastised for not offering more on the way out... well you start to get jaded.  I started to wonder who I was really helping.  Wanting to believe I was doing something kind, even noble...  I convinced myself, while I was waiting in the 7-11 parking lot, for the gentleman from under the bridge to buy snacks, that I might need that giant Colt 45 and cigarettes too, if I lived under the bridge. 

I started having difficulty justifying the choices they were making when some months later I saw them with their three legged dog walking down College Avenue.

Now... having said all of that about my big hearted desire to help any and all people who appear to be in such trouble, I can't help but compare my little life and my little house in my little subdivision... with our country and the people who are so adamantly opposed to our new President and his plans to build our wall.

No matter how sad I was for the people under the bridge, or walking with Angels, or holding cardboard signs... I couldn't bring them home with me.  Actually, they wouldn't have been happy here.  They told me stories of being in jail in Arizona and families in California but they wanted to be free.  To come and go as they please.  To rely on others to provide for them.  To refuse to let the dog be sheltered with the SPCA to heal.  To live by their own rules and answer to no one.  I have rules.  In my house, you abide by my rules.

If I think for a minute about the people coming across our borders illegally, I am torn.  Some are fleeing dreadful situations and mean no harm to anyone....they are looking for a better life for themselves and their families, but others are not.  There are those who have no difficulty breaking the laws to get here and continuing to break our laws as a way of life.

I used to be fearless but now I am older and a little wiser.  I am not a racist because I lock my doors at night. 

Our President is not a racist because he wants to be able to lock OUR doors at night. 

When Shannon was little, I would not have brought strangers into our home.  I would not have trusted the world to be safe and gentle and kind and everyone wanting only what's best for everyone else.  She trusted me to keep her safe so she didn't have to be afraid.  I learned to lock doors.

I know there are those who disagree, and I'm okay with that, but I hope they bring all this big political stuff home.  We are a big beautiful diverse family but we have to have rules.  We have to understand that everyone doesn't want to be a part of our family.  They don't want to follow our rules or abide by our laws.  We can't just leave the doors and windows open and hope for the best. 

Our President is trying to find a way to do what is best for all of us.  He wants those coming into this country to be as safe as those who were born here, but that requires making some difficult and often unpopular decisions.  

I guess after all this rambling, all I really want to say, to those who might be so angry about our new political environment is, remember we all live here.  We all want to close our eyes at night knowing that someone, somewhere is keeping us safe.  All of us.  Think about this country as our home.  Our shared home.  And when you lock your door tonight or stand in your fenced back yard with your children or your dog, feeling safe and protected, you are not being hateful.  You are not being elitist.  You are not being racist. 

You are being careful with... and protective of... all that you hold dear. 






I've written all sorts of things this morning... and deleted them.  Started again... and deleted that. 


Easing back into the process of finding something relevant to write about is more challenging than I had hoped.  I suppose it is like exercise or dieting or staying on a budget or keeping a tidy house full of wonderful and creative organizational skills... OUCH... even the thought is challenging !  So before my mind explodes I will simply say that along with making coffee, scooping poop, feeding kitties, getting dressed and glancing at the pond, my mornings include a quick Facebook check on all of my friends.  What ultimately follows is joy, sorrow, concern, sighs of relief, smiles generated by babies and puppies, and a prayer. 

I struggle with prayer.  Not the conversation with God part of prayer, but the requests.  I never prayed harder than I did for my child.  She left this life anyway.  I prayed for my husband when he suffered a heart attack, and he is still as trying as ever.  I prayed for my friends Cathy and Donna and Sue and they joined Shannon.  I prayed for my brother and I am incredibly grateful that he is improving every day. 

I never felt that God wasn't listening or handing out favors to a select few, I simply questioned my understanding of prayer. 

Facebook is always bringing prayer requests to many, from many.  Some days my heart aches for everyone who is frightened or lonely or hopeless or helpless and the list is so long that I have to ask God to be sure and check Facebook for anyone I might have missed, knowing full well how ridiculous that must sound... even to God.

What I have come to know is that we can't change the course of another's path through prayer.  I believe that Shannon was only meant to be on the Earth for 23 years and when the time came for her to depart, no depth of desperation in my pleading prayers could have changed that.  Her little life touched more than she could have ever imagined and she did it all in 23 years.  Then she got to go Home.  She didn't choose the moment, she didn't plan the storm but accidents are just that.   I had to love her enough to respect and trust and survive that that was her path, a path that was set in motion with her first breath.  That even if she had missed the thunderstorm, had left Mom's at noon instead of three, had taken a different route home, or been driving a newer car with more safety features, it wouldn't have changed her destiny.

Now, when I see a request for prayer, I ask for healing, but if that isn't to be, I ask for peace.  I have come to know that when we are sad or afraid, when we feel lost and alone, just knowing that there are others thinking about us, talking to God about us, sending love to us and those we us strength beyond our selves.  We know that if we take a moment to fall apart or take a breath or have faith in hope... that there are others, holding us up, keeping our loved one in that safe place, no matter what the outcome.

So I suppose that is my most relevant thought this morning.  If you are struggling, sad, frightened or challenged beyond what you can understand, you are not alone.  Friends and strangers alike have immense compassion and when you share your hope, we rally to your side.



New Beginnings


Fairy 1
It's wonderful to look at a blank page, a clean slate, a new oven and see possibilities.  I had not blogged in so long that my account had gone dormant...sleeping...waiting, I suppose.  The last year was once a new beginning and I tried to fill every second, every space, with projects and plans and constant motion.

 I allowed some things to fall away imagining that I was clearing, making space for simply breathing.  By the end of 2016 and the beginning of my 62nd year I was exhausted.

All I can say with certainty is that I am here, updated and wide awake and we will see what unfolds.

(Of course that will involve rediscovering how to update and improve on this blog adventure)


Mom Me Mel When I was little, maybe five, my hard working, take on any task despite the mid day sun in July Mom, decided that she was going to trim the wild roses that were growing well into the path to the garden.  After several hours, she collapsed onto the grass. ( I have to admit that I don't actually remember this event, but she told me the story often. )  My Dad had a grocery store a short walk from the house but didn't find my Mom for some time.  Fortunately when he did, he got her into the house and cooled her down and she made a full recovery.  When she asked me why I didn't go for help I said, " I thought you were dead and I didn't want you to be by yourself."  Have to love five year old logic.

Shan and MeI always wanted to be a Mom and the sweetest, most wonderful day of my life was the day that Shannon was born.  I was twenty and all I knew for certain was that I had no idea that a heart could hold as much love as I had for that new human with the incredibly bright blue eyes.  

Shannon was wise and gentle and brave and fierce and loved wide open.   


Shan Digger

When Shannon was four she flitted into her bedroom one spring morning while I was making her bed and announced quite matter of factly that she couldn't wait to get to Heaven.  More than a little curious, I sat on the floor and she plopped into my lap.  "And why is that?"  I asked, noticing that she smelled like sunshine and Vanilla Wafers.   "Because Mom, it's always warm, and they never turn the lights off."   It was that simple.


Shan Mom
How could I possibly be sad on Mother's Day?  These two wonderful women hold my life in place, like the cover of a cherished book, hard bound, sturdy, beautiful, inviting... a cover that  secures the chapters from beginning to end.  Some of the chapters still unwritten but held together and inspired by my Mother and my Daughter.

In the last days of  her life, my Mother said to me, "I love you very much."   The memories of those days are blurred by unfolding events that were beyond our control, but I will always hold dear those  last whispered words.  

My last conversation with Shannon, a lunchtime phone conversation was so ordinary.  We planned her Monday morning job interview, where we were going to have dinner, what time she would be home from Gram's, what time I would be home from work, what time Denise would be there.  But that conversation ended with "I love you Mom." The  last words I would ever hear her say.  We should all be so blessed.

Being Shannon's Mom is the most precious gift I will ever receive.  Mother's Day can not be sad for me...even though I am without my daughter and my mother ~ it is a day of wonderful memories and tenderness.


We cannot know how life will unfold, so we allow the sorrows to become a part of us, as much as the joy.  We allow life to teach us to live with more love than fear.  We allow ourselves to be braver than we thought we could be and gentler than we ever imagined. 

I so love the line from Steel Magnolias when Sally Field says of her daughter, " I realize as a woman how lucky I am.  I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out."

We choose each other.  How incredible that Shannon chose me to be her Mom for her whole life.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the amazing women in my life.

Shan Bunny

Where does time go?

For a lot of years, I have found such comfort in writing.  Just finding a way to get the millions of thought threads out of my head and into the light of day has helped me to clarify and understand the chaos and cobwebs.  This year has been different.  I have spent more time journalling privately and quietly, while trying to keep up with life.  The rambling hasn't felt relevant enough to share.

I thought that being retired would mean an abundance of time.  I would finally catch up.  I would write and paint and garden and take long photo walks.  

This year I have done very little of any of those things and the idea of finally catching up and more time ... an urban legend.  

Where does all of the time go that was once devoted to a forty hour work week?  I should have forty extra hours every week for all of the things that I never seemed to have time for in the work a day life.

Okay, I will admit that I spend way more time watching mindless television.  Big Bang Theory is my go to mood booster.  Thank goodness it is in reruns on several channels and with the DVR, I can record and never be without a quick fix.  Also, being 61 seems to be the expiration date that our warranty is good until.  I pretend that I can go just as long and just as hard as I did at 50, but the very thought of lifting a 28 ft. ladder or hoisting this ever expanding backside up a telephone pole seems impossible and exhausting.

On especially bad days, I console  myself with the thought that perhaps I am having a brief flare up of last summer's Lyme disease.

Today I realized that this is just my month.  From Shannon's birthday on April 5th, until her Heaven day on May 1... my body remembers.  In the deepest part of me where I feel her hand in mine, hear her laughter or grumbling, hold the truth of how incredible it is to be her Mother, there is an ache that never leaves.  

We imagine, before we know, that eighteen years is a long time.  Plenty of time to heal and "move on".  But eighteen years passes in the blink of an eye...and feels like an eternity. Even when your mind is occupied, your body remembers and that ache finds its place.

April is my time.  Time to plant flowers and watch old movies.  To revisit photo albums and reread letters.  April is a time of rebirth and renewal and wonder and the promise that no matter how cold and desolate the winter may have been, the warmth returns and life awakens and peepers sing at dusk and the bluebirds and chickadees find their way back to last years homes and lilacs bloom along with the honeysuckle and wild roses.  Of course this year, April has also taught me a thing or two about grumpy honeybees who swarm, and relocate, and rear lots of new queens just to kill off the extras.   The once gentle girls are angry and confused and doing all they can to find a new normal when the Queen Mother has abandoned ship and taken 60% of the family with her.


My days begin and end with two thoughts... requests for miracles for those who need them, and absolute gratitude for every blessing.  I make every effort to be optimistic and kind, to see the light despite the shadows, but  sometimes I take my Pollyanna hat off and throw it across the room.  Other times that same hat is knocked off and pitched by someone who just needs their moment of utter despair, a well deserved, validated moment of despair.   There are days that I mourn the loss of all of the wonderful people who have left too soon.  We need those moments of utter despair, to feel deeply and remember tenderly.  Then we take a breath, like stepping out of a warm bath, cleansed... and realize how precious every moment is. I'm learning.

I found an opened can of tuna in the pantry the other day, and the peanut butter in the refrigerator.  I raced to the computer to look up the warning signs of impending dementia.  

Thirty minutes ago, I was sorting the last month's mail when I remembered that I hadn't answered an email or paid an overdue bill.  I had a notice that my blog was not being optimally utilized.  I put the towels in the drier but I'm sure I didn't turn it on...and I can hear that the back door is open so the cats can go out but it's raining.  The vacuum cleaner is in the middle of the living room floor where I started to use it yesterday when the UPS man rang the bell at our house by mistake and the phone rang at that same moment announcing that I had won a free two week membership at the YMCA.

Is it any wonder I put the tuna in the pantry?  Sophie has just joined me to remind me that it's dinnertime and she can't open the can by herself.  It's raining and she can't go outside and I can hear my cellphone dinging an incoming message.  Time doesn't really GO anywhere.  It just rolls along with us in our chaos and cobwebs, Pollyanna hats and cold peanut butter, bee stings and birthdays and the best we can do is take a breath now and then and just smile.