I can wait until Christmas. Most of us have experienced the slow movement of time that occurs as our skidding car approaches a guardrail, we trip and a path gradually rises to meet us, or we're stuck in a dead-still line. Give me one of those lines.
A postcard waited in our mailbox last week, carrying a short request: "40th Reunion Bluffton High School Class of 1970, August 28, 2010. Please mark your calendars and plan to attend!" I'm thinking "40th" must have been a typo.
Former neighbors from the Show-Me State visited us this weekend. Yesterday, we telephoned their daughter, Jordan, and suddenly realized she's about the age Karen was when our St. Louis friends gathered to help us load a U-Haul trailer to "North Carolina or Bust."
This coming June we will have nestled here among these mountains longer than the two of us have lived anywhere else (and we aren't real estate shopping). The little boy for whom Jordan wrote the story, "Adam's Great Adventure," will be entering his third decade.
Yes Virginia, there may be a Santa Claus. I wish he'd trek like a turtle before descending one of our chimneys.
Throw back Thursday, a day late
4 days ago