Today’s for Listening

I’ve been in Catholic school ever since my mom could get a bow to stick to my head. After 17 years of formal education in the ways of the church, I have Catholic reflexes, but I can hardly tell you a Bible story, all the deadly sins, or all seven sacraments. I was a terrible
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Morning Fantasies

Every morning, I sit outside in my rocking chair and watch the sky. When I can shelf the shoulds and need-to-dos that crowd my head, I think good, dreamy thoughts. It’s a conscious effort. This morning I had a delicious one. I am a daily columnist for a newspaper, any newspaper. I write bits of
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What A Smart Little Plant

I remember my Aunt Kay telling me how much she enjoys a plant called Portulaca. I wasn’t moved at the time. I bought one this summer because the horticulturalist at the nursery told me it is “drought tolerant.” I live in Atlanta where the heat sucks the life out of everything in the summer. This
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Remember To Be Sad

There was an annunciation in the grey sheet of a sky this morning, a heart-shaped clearing where you could see a streak of bright white cloud announcing the sun behind it. There are many ways to interpret that vision. Hopeful, prophetic, spiritual, motivational. Today, it’s just a striking sunrise. I have a vision for my
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You Can Start Over and Over

I just started rereading Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. The book is all soul and inspiration. It was written 50 years ago when Anne went to the beach to reflect on the pattern of her life. At the beginning of the book, she talks about her affinity for freshly sharpened pencils. I
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We Can Be Love

I woke up too early this morning so I stayed in bed, waiting for the first hint of light. When the sky put the stars to bed with a dove grey blanket, I began my morning routine. It is the same every day. First my pink, fleecy robe. I reach for it with need, wrap
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The Wise Man

My Aunt Maureen died last month. After the eulogy, there wasn’t much said. Some of us got hives, some got bone tired, some put their sadness in a box, storing it for another time. We crawled back to our safe routines, telling jokes, crazy-but-true family stories, and cleaning. My cousin Tommy, who is schizophrenic, was
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