On my bedroom shelf, three bottles of perfume are ready for a new home. One lost its top, the second is clogged, and the third—if you ask me—is just being stubborn! Yet, I look at them sitting there and it's as if they are saying, “Yeah, we’re here! Whatcha gonna do about it?”
Okay, that’s only the sassy one. The other two can’t figure out why I haven’t used them in over a year.
Read MoreCirca age three, my Great Grandmother Lucille taught me this rhyme and how to pump my legs to use our backyard swingset. This Thanksgiving offered a full-circle moment to that earliest memory.
Read MoreSomehow, a little fly got trapped inside my car. He flew in when I stopped to get a breakfast taco on my way to Midland.
“Please fly out little guy,” I coaxed, cracking a smile at my own little joke. Five minutes later, I waited at Sonic for my diet cherry and lime coke. “Okay buddy, both doors are open for you now.”
The windows in my lime green beetle stopped working in 2020, just like everything else. Mr. Buzzy had a choice to make: get out now, or wait a loooong time for the next stop.
#WestTexasDriving
Each time, he bzzzzzzed, fought and tried to “escape” at the window. I opened my door, and he just kept flying to the crack where he “should” have been able to escape. Buzz Buzz flew from window to window, totally missing the wide-open doors that waited for him.
Read MoreMISSION: Find and eat the sugar cubes! As kids, we spent HOURS playing church hide and seek. We felt like finding sugar cubes was a simple extension of the game. Parish halls = coffee. Coffee = sugar. Simple math.
When we were really young, sugar cubes were still a thing and our dad was a visiting minister. We had many new territories to explore. We tested unlocked doors, snuck into nurseries and scoured cupboards. The entire campus was our playground.
Read MoreMISSION: Find and eat the sugar cubes! As kids, we spent HOURS playing church hide and seek. To be fair, we felt like finding sugar cubes was a simple extension of the game. Parish halls = coffee. Coffee = sugar. Simple math.
When were really young, sugar cubes were still a thing and our dad was a visiting minister. We had many new territories to explore.
Read MoreAt first, a 4th grader’s letter sat with me softly. Days later, I couldn’t shake his wisdom. This student wrote to Emily Dickinson regarding her poem “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” and shared: “At first, Ms. Dickinson, I didn’t know what to make of your poem at all.”*
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