The Candy Man

I’ve landed in Houston to meet my 7th grand-baby boy, born last week. The Lyft app just alerted me: "Driver, Maria Patrica, Silver Toyota Corolla. Lane 5, door #E-102." I see no door E-102 where I'm standing outside of terminal A. There's no E anywhere inside either, except for the arrow to the E-terminal, pointing… Continue reading The Candy Man

The Room

November 12, 2019 I'm awake and up before The Cowboy has gone to bed. It's 1:21 a.m. Too darn early. I went to bed at 10, but I'm wide awake now. I'm afraid I'm getting weird.  Unbalanced. And while I really love getting a jump on my day, I'm also afraid I'm getting pulled out of sync… Continue reading The Room

Limping Praise

He walks to the door, As if he's just going out with friends. "Remember, mom, when I couldn't reach this lock?" His memory connects with mine. "Yes, I do," I say. The lock clicks, The door opens, He steps through. It's just an ordinary day. A little rain.  Cloudy. "I love you, mom." "I love… Continue reading Limping Praise

Hungry and Full

No one made room for him, save the one who yelled, amidst hay and manure, blood and smells. And she prepared nothing, except to accept-- turns out was enough, she opened herself. The womb that bore him and the heart that said yes were filled with a Savior, to rule and to bless. "Prepare the… Continue reading Hungry and Full

The Log

Sleep is elusive at 60. Whereas babies and children used to wake me in the middle of the night, and after that, teenagers coming in late, now getting up for the bathroom does. Once I'm awake, it's hard to get back to sleep.  And then there are the unexplained wake up calls, the ones that… Continue reading The Log

Dark Thirty

Time stops in the dark. Before dawn, it yawns and stretches. Putters. Lingers. Moseys. Puts on coffee. And sits. Waits. Makes room. I remember endless time before clocks and counting, when the first day of school and the last stretched out like Highway 16, Macon to Savannah. Nowyearscram instead of c r a w l… Continue reading Dark Thirty

The Purge

The nest is empty.  Our last fledgling is settled into college dorm life and has already slept through his first test, while his mama-bird, blissfully unaware, awoke to her to-do-or-not-to-do list, none of it involving him. I've been preparing Stone his whole life--and myself all year--for when he would be washing his own socks and… Continue reading The Purge