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  • 10/12/2019 It’s not a good time to be a grandmother. Of my employees, four have recently had grandmothers who were rushed to the ER, and three had grandmas who passed away. One person had three or four grandmothers who died in a six-week period. 
    Having had a very close relationship to my own grandmother, I used to be sympathetic to these early morning calls. But now, I just feel sorry for the grandmas who, assuming they even exist, are repeatedly used as an excuse. 
  • 9/28/2019  I felt privileged to be an onlooker when he handed her the wedding band; a delicate, gold ring with intricate detail along the edges. As he gently laid it in her palm, she began to cry. 
     “Where did you find it?” her voice broke. 
     “Behind the cabinet, just like you always said.” 
      Slipping it onto her finger, she clasped both hands to her chest and let the tears flow. 
      His tears flowed, too. 
     
  • 9/7/2019 I just polished off a bowl of vegetable soup with a side of rye bread. As I popped the last bit of crust into my mouth, I had a flashback to Vilnius, Lithuania, where I was privileged to travel for two autumns in a row. There is nothing in the world like Lithuanian dark rye bread. I had some form of rye at every meal, and firmly associate it with crisp, autumn air.
  • 6/3/2019 Today, I decided to take the long way home, and drive past my old house. The house I had lived in for twenty years. 

    During those two decades, I watched the trees in the front yard grow and flourish. I wanted once more to catch a glimpse of their beauty. 

    It is still odd to see a new family living in the place that I used to think would be mine until I was old and gray. 

    A few years ago, I was driving through the countryside when I realized my route was taking me past three houses that had once been the homes of couples I’d known. It was a stark realization that new families lived in those homes because each of the marriages ended in divorce.

    By the time I got to the third house, I was so overcome with emotion that I pulled off the road and cried. 
  • 5/2/2019 In 1985, my high school principal folded the petition I had painstakingly written on behalf of my class, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit coat. “I’m surprised a girl with such a pretty face could write something like this,” he coolly stated. 
    Maybe that’s why even though I rarely feel compelled to sign a petition, I do pay special attention to those written by students. 
    This past week, I came across a petition regarding a prom dress code that had been instituted by a local high school. Not only did I sign it, I donated to the student’s cause.  
    I try to always encourage others to use their voice, whether or not I agree with their opinion. In this case, I fully agreed. In fact, had I written the petition, it would have included much more than the forbidden footwear. Requiring neckties, suits, tuxedos, etc, seems a bit over the top, not to mention an expense many cannot afford. 
  • 4/18/2019 Pneumococcal Sepsis. She fell ill on Monday while teaching her third grade class. It was the first day back after spring break. On Friday (Good Friday) she died.
    If she’d had a pneumonia shot within the correct timeframe, she wouldn’t have died. Plain and simple. That’s what they told us at the hospital. Pneumonia shots are necessary if you don’t have a spleen, and hers had ruptured in a car accident in 1975. We almost lost her then, but she managed to live another twenty-three years.
    “Leave it to mom to die on the same day as Jesus Christ,” I tried to joke, because humor is often our family’s way of coping.
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Tuesday, October 22, 2019

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