My son, who posts my blogs to the web, often criticizes my rambling way of writing. I don’t care because it is authentic and I remind him of all the criticism Hemmingway got for his writing style, while he was alive. But, in this blog, I may have to agree a little. But hang on; the self-help tip is worth the read. Here we go:
From every UIYB guest interview, I learn something. This past week’s show was no exception and what I learned I put to good use.

Driving to work one crisp morning, I saw a home whose front yard had been rolled. Though I know, from experience, it is a mess to clean up, I still found it endearing. The graceful flowing of the toilet paper blowing in the wind caused me to circle the block and stop to watch it.

I know it is late for a Christmas gift idea, but I was late in finding out about this one.
Deciding to shop local for some last-minute gifts, I went into Dandelion Home and Garden a newly opened, little gift and plant store in the Hillcrest neighborhood of Little Rock, Arkansas.

Arkansas doesn’t have a pro team, but it feels like we do. The University of Arkansas Razorbacks are our state’s passion. In sports bars and restaurants, alike, fans show support by unabashedly “calling the Hogs” and then high fiving each other in solidarity.

I realize that the thought of getting older is not usually an item on one’s gratitude list. But it is on mine, and not because I am a cancer survivor, or anything. It is much simpler than that.

There is no scientific proof that war is ingrained in human nature, according to a study by Brian Ferguson, professor of anthropology at Rutgers University-Newark. 
But I don’t need scientific proof to know that every Fall, as deer season approaches, my husband and late father would get an itch. A drive to get outdoors, feel the change of season, and shoot something.

My little cancer baby on the end of my nose surprised everyone but me. I was awake through the whole MOH out-patient surgery. With my nose numb, the cancer surgeon took a dime size divot off of the tip and carried his new extraction into the other room to observe under a microscope.

Now, I am a person that goes to the dermatologist every year. For years, my doctor has recommended a preventative, deep-facial peel for the sun damage done to my fair skin during my youth. The only problem I have with this suggestion is the recovery time. For a week after this procedure, you look like a reptile during molting season. So, I put it off until last November when, once again, the doctor reminded me of the peel and went on to say that it was also good for getting rid of fine lines (he should have mentioned that earlier).

In less than two months, I have recorded three new radio interviews, torn my home up in a remodeling frenzy, bought a work-in-progress business in Miami with new travel expenditures, and happened to witness the launch of Elon Musk’s first civilian space launch with Space X from Cape Canaveral.

If you haven’t read Kristin Hannah’s book The Nightingale, then you need to put it on your book list. This soon to be made into a movie book has everything, except maybe laughter.

It is hard to believe I have lived in my house for almost 30 years. When first moving in with a budding family, it didn’t seem big enough. Now, it’s too big.
At this stage of my life, I find many of my friends are downsizing . I too have contemplated a smaller place, but with my still-nagging ambition, and possible fallacy to believe “bigger is better,” I just can’t pull the trigger and move into a condo.

During our second Miami work week, Grady’s parents came to town.
Ann, having grown up on the beach in California, was energized by the childhood sensory memories created by the sights, sounds, and beach smells.

This week’s Girl’s Night Out (GNO) was at my house. Being the hostess of the evening, I get to loosely plan the menu and setting. Because COVID is on the rise, we, as a group, chose to be mindful of each other’s family health concerns by communing outside. And because I love games (remember the adult easter egg hunt?), at this GNO, we played croquet.

I sit outside all the time. I took note a few weeks ago when, for a brief moment, right at dusk, I felt an ever so slight wisp of cool air brush across my skin. This is when I began to take notice of the trees and saw they were feeling it, too.

My ex-husband, Ron Thompson, used to say I was the only person he knew that could wear ten colors below the ankle.

Last Independence Day happened to fall on Sunday, a day of worship for many Americans and, as usual, I was at ushering at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral that morning. Because of our country’s deep tension between worship and patriotism, I felt sorry for our dean who, in her sermon that day, had to find the balance between celebrating the gospel and nationalism. She found the common ground in the word “Freedom.”

A month ago, while flying home from Miami and landing in Atlanta, I felt a terrible pressure in my ear that had me close to screaming out loud. The pain was excruciating and left the right side of my face sore and achy for a few days.

It is that time of year again: when you find me hot, dirty and breaking my nails in our shipping department.

Kids complain about school and grown-ups complain about work. But, when gone from your life, you realize how much you miss the socialization and the opportunities that working and learning afford you.

Oh, it is so nice to be able to shake hands, hold babies, and eat out, again.
This week, an old friend and former roommate from my twenties came to stay at my house along with her daughter-in-law and two grandchildren.