I'm not a huge fan of cemetery visits. I mean, probably most people aren't, but while I see the value in the ritual of visiting a loved one who has passed and experiencing all of the emotional things that come with that, it's not something in which I find a lot of comfort.
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The Perfect Sign on a Perfect Afternoon
It was the most excellent kind of November day: sunny and mid 70s. I finished work early and decided to make the most of the weather by going out for a car wash and a grocery pickup. But first, a long drive. Driving my red Mustang convertible the long way on a gorgeous day to get to where I’m going–or even to no place in particular–is my favorite thing. (Okay, one of my favorite things.) I thought about where my errands were and drove in the opposite direction, weaving my way through dappled sunshine along back roads that were lined with all the fall colors. I pulled over several times…
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Forsythia
Every year at this time, I see explosions of yellow-flowered branches springing from forsythia shrubs. The bright color alone is enough to bring a smile to my face; spring is coming, after all. More than that, I go back in time with these particular blooms. Years ago when I walked my little boys to the little elementary school around the corner from our house, a line of forsythia shrubs lined the fence between the school playground and the backyard of the home next door. Often the dog that lived there would bark and run along the fence as kids walked by, something that adds even more texture to an already…
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Eight Months and Two Days
Today is the day my dad’s cremains will be interred at the East Tennessee State Veterans Cemetery. It’s been eight months and two days since he died of COVID-19 complications, and just typing that out, “eight months and two days,” makes me bristle. Under normal circumstances, his funeral would have been within a week and not two-thirds of a whole year later. Under normal circumstances, he would most definitely still be alive today. Several hours after the honors ceremony at the cemetery, we will have a Celebration of Life dinner at a Holiday Inn, the location being my sister’s brilliant idea to honor a man who managed hotels, mostly Holiday…
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Bitter Sweet Symphony
A few months ago, I brought home my Dream Car, a red Mustang convertible. That full story is for another day but suffice it to say that I have wanted that car since I was 16 years old. The day I drove one home was, as you might guess, dreamy. My Dad loved my car. LOVED. IT. I remember the June day we drove it over to show my parents. Jim and I got out of the car and after I rang their doorbell, we stood way back (thanks, pandemic) so they could walk to the driveway and see it up close. My dad went around to the passenger side…
