The Silver Lining

There are few things in life that I detest more than a bra.   Yes, I said it, and I know this makes my mother cringe.   (Sorry, Mom!) As a pre-teen, when one girl in the class came to school sporting a training bra,  we ALL decided we should have one.  What no one tells you is that a training bra does not train the boobs, it trains the GIRL to wear a bra. I think that was the LAST time I ever truly WANTED a bra. I determined that a bra was developed as a torture device to keep women "tied to their place."  At times I'd just as soon have a strand of barbed wire wrapped around my rib cage. I grew up in the late 60's and early 70's, when "bra-burning" was a sign of feminism, a sign of protest against establishment.  I didn't actually DO it --- but now, the idea is really kind of intriguing! I will admit bras DO have some usefulness.  They make our clothes fit better.  They "lift and separate" (to borrow a phrase from a

I've always loved pine trees.  There's just such a feeling of peacefulness, communion with God, or being "at home" when I am walking through the pines on the farm, surrounded by tall trees that soar straight up to the blue skies, a soft carpet of rust-colored needles muffling my steps.  When the breeze blows, the needles on the trees seem to whisper into the air, a soft rustling sound that is pleasant to my ears.    When we moved to our current home, I was delighted to see a few stately pine trees in the yard.  While picking up pine cones is one of David's least favorite activities, I don't mind them at all!  (Guess which one of us mows the yard!)  I remember as a child, picking up pine cones to use in decorating for the fall and holiday season.  Craft time often involved gluing glitter on the tips of the cone, or creating pine cone "turkeys" by poking multi-colored construction paper "tail feathers" into the larger end.

There is a portrait of me on the wall.  My husband David took it with his cell phone when we were at a local restaurant a few years ago.  I’ve got a bit of a tan, my eyes are bright and shining, I’m smiling with a hint of laughter on my face.  I’m wearing a pink tunic that has sparkling trim around the neckline. It portrays a confident me, a happy me, a healthy me.   It is a good picture, one I like because it reflects a happy time in my life.   We were (and still are) very happily married, living in a beautiful lakeside home.   Our three children enjoyed successful careers and relationships; four grandsons rounded out the family.   I walked five miles every day, I was active in my church and community, had a circle of friends and lots of activities and hobbies that I enjoyed.   These days, I find myself standing in front of that portrait, staring at the smiling woman.   I speak to her, asking “Where did you go?   I can’t seem to find you now.”   This past June, I was d

Someone recently asked me about my "writing story."  I never have given that a lot of thought, to be honest, and I gave a rather short response.  So when a day or two later, I received an email writing prompt, asking me the very same question, I thought maybe I need to sit up and take notice. I remember learning to write my ABC's, sitting in my daddy's lap. I also remember my first grade teacher, Miss Randall, teaching me to read -- what a GIFT she gave me!  During the summer between 2nd and 3rd grades, my classmate Cathy and I wrote letters to each other.  (Darn, I wish I still had those letters, they'd be a hoot to read!)  As I grew older, I had several "pen pals" -- a couple of friends who moved away, a friend I met at the beach, an airmail penpal from Germany, and another one from Sweden. I always enjoyed reading and writing in school; my favorite English assignments always dealt with creative writing or story-telling. I kept journals an