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Ode to Mud

My first love was mud. In the backyard of the pink house in Denver on the corner of a street lined with other one-story tract houses, my little family lived. Mother didn’t plant, Daddy Joe didn’t garden. The bushes were scarce and scraggly, whatever the developer had set in the ground. Untended, like three-year-old me in the springtime yard in my...

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What is a Gratitude Attitude?

“I’ve got a gratitude attitude,” the kids sang in their joyful voices this week on Grandparents Day. And the emails arriving in my inbox on this Thanksgiving Day encourage an attitude of gratitude. Some religious, some touting its emotional benefits. My friend who died of cancer back when I was on Facebook posted every day at least...

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Veterans Day 2023

This Veterans Day 2023, I’m remembering our early days of living in New Orleans. I would often ride the City of New Orleans train from Memphis to the city. One trip, I was standing in the line at the canteen—trains have snack bars on their lower levels where you can buy drinks and chips. Shortly before, our armed services had lifted their “Don’t...

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My Attachment to Things, So Embarrassing

When Daddy Joe died—killed by a train in what the responding officer called as clean a t-bone as he’d ever seen—Mother said she stopped caring about things. Only people mattered. I always took this to mean that attachment to things was shallow. Yet. I love my new burnt sienna pillow cases in wrinkly linen. I love my 1950s TV trays I’m...

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The Bishop Came to Our House

Yesterday, in church, the Bishop came to our house. She wore her gold hat and white robes. She carried a carved shepherd’s crook, because she is the shepherd of our souls here on earth. At her side stood a tiny woman called the Bishop’s chaplain, as if the Bishop gets to travel with her BFF spiritual friend always. The Bishop was...

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New Cowboy Boots: A Conversation

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the need to buy a pair of new cowboy boots. Every Christmas when I was a little girl, we got a new pair of boots. In lucky years, we got the whole nine yards: turquoise jeans, snap shirt, belt, hat, and the boots. My beloved husband agreed to wedge this shopping trip into an already complicated, whirlwind trip...

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You’re Swimming Streamline

The guests are gone, the washing begun. A wind arrived and blew slashing rain down the streets. The palms shook their heads like Peanuts characters dancing to Linus’s piano. Then the storm, too, passed. Water filled the potholes; for the sake of your suspension, beware the unseen. I, who made no food for Thanksgiving, baked cookies...

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All Saints’ Day

On this All Saints’ Day, as we left the church singing “Oh, when the Saints, go marching in,” I connected with my ancestors. If you’ve read this blog, you realize that’s no mean feat for me. I’ve spent a lot of time talking about my father’s family and their sins. I do not consider them saints. I don’t...

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Putting Out Fires

My father used to tell a story about his job and putting out fires. He sat at his desk, concentrating, and the phone would ring. A problem had flared up, demanding his immediate attention, diverting him from what he really needed to be doing. It drove him bonkers—when would he get his real work done?—until he realized putting out fires was his real...

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