Posted by: roughwighting | August 21, 2015

If it’s not too late

driving cross countryI’ll drive cross country by myself in a comfy car

and stop every day at some spot of Americana:

the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone and Yosemite, of course.

If it’s not too late.

 

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Posted by: roughwighting | August 14, 2015

The Softest Thing

Baby's feet by Pamela S. WightI have a friend who refuses to change diapers. He’ll hold and cuddle. He’ll change the baby’s clothes. He’ll help with the laundry and vacuuming, but change a diaper? There he puts his foot down – NO.

I beg to change diapers. Me!! Me! Let me! I have to tone down my enthusiasm so my family doesn’t think I’m too strange. But what could be better than changing a newborn’s diaper? Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | August 7, 2015

Hail Hail to Bird Calls

New England thunder storm

Jim Davis/Boston Globe staff.

New England experienced some exquisite, exciting, and potentially perilous storms this week.

I expected them…because of the birds. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | July 31, 2015

A Dawn Dilemma from A to Z

dawn, New EnglandA few minutes after dawn, I notice some movement outside my window.

Because it’s summer, with flowers blooming wildly and birds singing as if there’s no tomorrow, I assume some kind of wildlife has entered my yard.

Cracking open the back door, I peek out. Despite my admiration for foxes and wild turkeys, I don’t necessary want to tiptoe out into the yard and run into any family squabbles. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | July 24, 2015

The Son Also Rises

http://lovingchristministries.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Sweet-Baby-Boy-Featured-Image-700x250.jpgI look at him across the table, thinking, who is he? Who is this tall, intense, handsome, stiff, strange man sitting with me at La Provence, eating his asparagus quiche daintily as if it were made of flower pedals?

I’ve known him for more than 30 years – intimately – and I truly have not a clue who he is. It was so much easier, when he was my baby boy, and even when he was a burgeoning almost-teenager, still giving me hard hugs at night. He told me stories about his war games with his best friend back then, and his dreams of being an importer/exporter, even though he had no idea what that meant. He was chubby, with a wonderful chuckle and a dimple as wide as a dime. Read More…

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