Some days, like today, when I really pay attention, I can hear Shug Avery’s voice singing “God is Trying to Tell You Something.” As if she was my daughter walking through the field and into
Time: 11:07 a.m. today Location: Dentist’s chair What: E-mail alert on my phone Sender: my dear friend who was J’s preschool director and kindergarten teacher subject line: Daddy’s gone home Message: “Just want to let
The alarm sounded. It was too early. The morning came a little too early. Again. Snooze. The alarm sounded. Still too early. Snooze. The alarm sounded. Had to get movin’, this time. “J! Wake up,
I baked some oatmeal cookies, packed a cooler and a bag full of necessary beach items and loaded the skimboard into Jett. Jmoney and I started on our way to Clearwater Beach for Xtina’s birthday
I’m happy the dance company’s season has ended. There, I said it. I’m never one to have the post-show depression of which our director, Eric Yow, speaks. I experience post-show delight. I guess it’s because
“Hi, Melissa! I need to tell you something,” the baseball coach’s wife said with a smile as she clanked her knees while walking the metal tightrope of the bleachers to get to me. Uh oh.
“Saylor.” A lightning bolt struck my spine. I know that “voice.” As I eyed my pathetic little blog this morning, I scrolled to the bottom of my most recent post, “Just Write,” and there I