By the time she was my age…

Recently, I visited my aunt and looked through some photos. She has pictures I have never seen before of my grandparents and my dad when he was a boy.  As I looked at a certain picture of my grandma I realized she was about the same age as I am now.  When I was younger, I looked a lot like her but looking at a picture of her the same age as I am now I can see that resemblance has faded.  My dad assures me though that I have many of her mannerisms and still carry myself in a similar fashion.  That is comforting because I have always enjoyed having that connection with her even though I don’t remember her very well.  She died when I was 12 but for the last three years of her life she was in a nursing home and her body became merely a shell of the vibrant woman she once was.  But when I saw that picture of her of when she was close to my age I compared our lives and the different roads we have both taken to get to this age. Continue reading


I recently discovered my journal I wrote in 1995.  After flipping through its pages I said a prayer of gratitude.  I am so very, very thankful Facebook – or any form of social media – was not around in 1995.  Whew!   I’m sure instead of venting in a private journal I would have shared – overshared – because that’s what geniuses do.   See, in 1995 I labored under the mistaken notion that I was some kind of undiscovered and untapped smarty pants.  Now eighteen years later I can assure you that was not the case.  I also discovered my claim of being a “much better speller before spell check” is completely unfounded.

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