Last year, I thought they looked so happy and free, frolicking with each other off-leash. This year, I am a cranky old lady.
I’ve been running on the fear that I will have Regrets in my old age because way back when I was a kid, my mother planted the idea in my head that I should be a writer. THANKS, MOM.
Then you open it and realize it’s an invitation. Oh, no! I might have to go somewhere I’ve never been to meet someone I don’t know!
It was a tough choice — possible detection, boob embarrassment, or no apple pie.
I could make the trip on my bare-bones budget but it would mean skipping all the fun stuff, like visiting friends, eating out, and exploring. And isn’t that the point?
I inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of sun-warmed pine needles mixed with sage, listened to the quiet, and I knew:
This is still my special place.
Everyone, it seems, is out to cram as much fun as possible into the weekend.
There are dirt paths you can walk or dirt roads you can drive (or walk). I like ‘em both, but what I …
[This is a copy of a letter I wrote yesterday to my local congresswoman, asking for help for a dear friend. If his …
I set myself a “stupid small” goal of writing just ten words. That’s all. If I could do that, I would consider the day a success.