An image.
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
 
  • Nine short years ago I became a grandmother. It seems like yesterday that I held a tiny bundle in my arms and read her the first story she ever heard while her mother listened and her Aunt Chrisie took pictures. 
  • I am a wimp. There, I’ve said it. All my courage is gone. It had been sapped by a lifetime of listening to my mother telling me to be careful, to stay home if it is bad outside. 
  • I engaged in a bit of time travel last week. We had been invited to meet our great-niece on her one-month birthday. My sister-in-law, Sue, was visiting her first grandchild. She had invited us to have lunch with her, the baby’s mother, Margaret, and most importantly, the new baby, Isabella. We were told we could only come if we promised not to call the baby Izzy. Reluctantly, we agreed. 
  • It’s the sweetest time of the year. I’m not talking about Valentine’s Day or even my birthday. 
  • Today is Groundhog Day. 
  • Whenever I was sick as a child my mom would boil what looked like thin sheets of wood in a pan, then pour the liquid into a heavy cup. She would add lots of milk and sugar to the pink concoction before handing it to me to sip. This was sassafras tea and never failed to make me feel better. 
  • It must be winter as my mailbox is filling up with plant catalogs. 
  • “What is that jingling sound?” I wondered. I was half asleep and my brain was still fuzzy. 
  • Nine short years ago I became a grandmother. It seems like yesterday that I held a tiny bundle in my arms and read her the first story she ever heard while her mother listened and her Aunt Chrisie took pictures. 
  • It is with sadness that I have resolved to never invite my mother to my house again. 
  • It’s not about the presents. 
  • My husband received an early Christmas present last week. 
  • This is the time of year when I always remember Ray and Phila Smith. 
  • I can’t believe it’s December already. Where did the time go? It seems like just yesterday that I was cleaning up the flower beds in preparation for winter. Wait, it was just yesterday. Today’s unseasonably warm weather should allow me to finish that task. 
  • “Suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” I looked up to see a blue jay pecking at our sliding glass door. “Only this, and nothing more.” I laughed as Poe’s words came to mind. The bird looked right at me before he flew away. It was a fitting beginning to the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. 
 
The Commercial Review, Jay County's Daily Newspaper
P.O. Box 1049 Portland, IN 47371