In researching my lineage, I found interesting stories of why and when some of my relatives immigrated to the United States. I was more surprised to find out that many arrived in the 1600s during the earliest days of our country. The following is an account of life after tragedy—of leaving behind a destroyed homeland to travel across the ocean to a new country and the promise of greater opportunities.
How many self-help books do you have on your shelves? I have generally steered away from such books, although I do have several. The question is: If self-help books really help, then why do people keep writing them? Every year there seems like a new flurry of “ideas” are touted by the latest media gurus. I am not saying they can’t be useful or helpful. I am sure they must be helpful to a degree. I have one that I keep trying to get rid of, but I can’t quite seem to put it in the donate pile. It is a book that helped me to move forward at a point when I was unable to do so.
I have read that according to etiquette experts it is acceptable to say “Happy New Year” for the first seven to ten days of the year. I admit, it seems odd to me to use that phrase anytime after January 1. I am rethinking that this year. I wish you a Happy New Year!
Pieces of paper are important to me. Sometimes they become a song lyric, a blog idea, or simply a reminder of a past event that is meaningful. I have often typed the phrases or sentences into the computer and printed them out . . . but, it simply, is not as much fun or evocative of that moment when I jotted those ideas down.
Too many mass shootings have happened this year. One is too many—and any number is dizzying and makes everything else seem unimportant. Issues of life and death put everything else in perspective. Sometimes I don’t feel inspired to write. Sometimes I have so many feelings it is impossible to write about them. Why bother?
As I looked outside this morning, I could not ignore the beauty in the awakening foliage and flowers. Try as I might to look away, to remain in a somber mood, and believe that all is lost—I could not stay in that mental space. Spring can’t be ignored.
I love taking the scenic route to and from work. The beginning and end of the route is the same as other days, but instead of traveling the main highway I turn and traverse several roads that ramble through neighborhoods.
On my drive to and from work, I enjoy taking pictures of interesting buildings, signs, colors, bumper stickers, or anything that catches my attention. This helps me be in the moment and notice things I might otherwise miss. In a previous blog, To and From Work: Part 1, I shared pictures from my drive to work. This blog shares pictures on my way home.
Driving to and from work four days a week is monotonous. I often remind myself to be in the moment and enjoy the ride. Here are ways that help me avoid boredom in the routine.
My mother probably had the most influence on how I became to be who I am. The person who shaped her was her mother, Belle Coker. When I was growing up everyone called her “Mama Coker” or simply “Mama.” And, indeed she was a mother to everyone in various ways.
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