Angel Wheeler

Life

  • C’ est La Vie

    Do you ever have moments in your life when you realize you don’t even know who the hell you are?  Maybe I’m the only one.  But sometimes, I can’t believe the way I behave or the thoughts in my head and I have to pause and say, where did that come from.  That’s not like you.… Read more

  • Summer twenty thirteen

    I’m such a slacker and I make myself so mad when I don’t blog regularly.  My thoughts and words are a bumbling rambling mess in my head which means the best approach to empty out  is with a list. Today is the first official day of summer.  Here in Ruidoso, the weather is a dream… Read more

  • List 10 things you would tell your 16 year-old self, if you could

    This is question number 4 on my list of 30 things my kids should know about me. What 10 things would I tell my 16 year old self.  Oh my.   I wish I could visit her.  Deep down I think she was sweet, but she was flirting much too often with rebellion, sowing wild… Read more

  • 12 months

    It’s unbelievable. It’s inconceivable. It’s unfathomable. I’m sitting up in bed with you sleeping soundly beside me,  studying your precious face and shaking my head in disbelief.  Can this really be true? One year, Emma Kate.  One year. This time last year, after a serious ordeal of labor and delivery, you made your appearance and have… Read more

  • Birthday Letters

    On January 16, 1943 my dad was born.  I don’t know anything about his birth.  Whether he was born in a hospital or at home.  Whether he was a good baby or a tyrant.  How much he weighed or if he sucked his thumb. Today if he were still living, he would have turned 70… Read more

  • Feeding the Big Chickens

    We recently had a family picnic at the park.  It was a beautiful September day and we were in the big city, so we decided to grab a couple burgers and enjoy them under the treetops. The park has a big lake with walkers and joggers circling it.  A few fisherman had cast their poles… Read more

  • Picture Perfect

    After we buried my dad February of last year, I drove back to Texas basically with a pickup, plants, and a photograph. The pickup still sits in front of my yard, longing for a spin around town. The plants, I’m proud to say, are flourishing. And the photo sits on a shelf in my dining… Read more

  • Outside

    Our baby girl loves it outside. No matter the mercury reading, she hasn’t learned to complain about the heat yet.   We haven’t cut her hair to look like a mohawk on it’s way to growing out, it’s just the way her hair, well is growing out.  Possibly one of the reasons she’s mistaken for… Read more

  • Peace, pecks, and pigs—Randomness

    It’s a peaceful kind of morning.  No hustle, no bustle. There’s a cool breeze, and it’s a nice respite before the West Texas July sun follows it’s usual path in the cloudless sky and the daytime temps rise to scorch and wither.  But after all, it is summer.  What else do we expect. EK and… Read more

  • In Memory of my dad—number forty something

    The green spiraled journal draws me in. It belonged to my dad. The very first thing I bought when I became an adult was a storage building.  It sits on my mom’s property (once upon a time it was my grandmother’s property) and my dad put a few boxes of belongings in there nearly twenty… Read more