The famous Christmas Letter, in our house it was a publication that was sought after by many of my parents’ friends and family.
Halloween lets us be something or someone we are not. It also lets us cut loose and go a bit crazy.
I fell out of my above-ground pool yesterday and it wasn’t pleasant. While I was falling I felt as if I would never hit the ground but would just continue plummeting into oblivion. But that didn’t happen; I hit the ground and yelled!
Sitting in my zero gravity chair in the back yard listening to the chirps and tweets of the birds, the rustling leaves on the trees and the distant barking of a dog it’s hard to believe that just a few short days ago I was in New York City. The tranquility of my back yard is the absolute opposite of the hustle factor of the greatest city on earth.
My kids do not consume my life; I have a life of my own. My kids, though, are a bonus, a gift, and a pleasant distraction from all the other stuff that goes on in my life. I watch them, observe them, and admire them in so many ways. They are my children. I love them so profoundly, so deeply – and I like them too.
I was home late at night again; I was thirteen going on thirty. The dining room fixture shone brightly down onto the table, like a beacon of sorts. I sat there with my copy books and my pens, and wrote. It was the summer before I was going to start high school.
“What do you think those starving children in China are doing?” my mother would ask. “Do you think they would leave anything on their plates?” Frankly, I didn’t think they would, but sometimes our dinner plates could or should have fed a small village in China without a problem. That is just how generous mom was with her portions.
This group of women – the playgroup – has shifted and changed as our children have grown, but one thing that has not changed is the amazing support that I feel whenever I think of you Bonnie, or Norma or Teresa or Flora or Sandy or Nancy or Nan or Doreen or Claire.
For the author and her friends, attending “Àn Evening with Oprah” at the Bell Center in Montreal is the culminating experience of a lifelong “friendship” with the celebrated TV talk show host.
A poem about how quickly life rides on by