writing
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It’s Saturday. Which means I’m thinking of my dad today. He died on a Saturday. My sister nailed it when she compared it to a new born’s age. You count every day of their life. Here in the beginning stages of my dad’s passing, and our grieving, we count each day too. It’s been 12 days, It’s been… Read more
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Class clowns. They’re in every classroom across America. Yes, even mine. Today before writing time (which I love to teach by the way), I read a sweet children’s book called The Old Woman Who Named Things by Cynthia Rylant. It’s about this cute little old lady who’s outlived all her friends, so she reluctantly gets a dog and they become… Read more
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The benches were damp that morning along the hike ‘n bike trail there in Clearwater, Texas. Remnants of an early morning storm lingered and kept away the usual occupants of the park. No kids, no squirrels, no homeless people. Just me and the thin morning light kept each other company that day. I was… Read more
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Hello friends, Here’s a second story from my dad. This was dated January 27, 1996. It is called Marking One’s Progress Through the Ages on the Doorjamb of Life. He had celebrated a birthday 11 days prior. As I write this I reflect back to the 16th of January. That was the day that I turned 53… Read more
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My family and I are in the midst of burying my dad. It’s hard. But tonight we sat around my grannie’s kitchen table and told our stories. And we laughed. And laughed. And laughed. It’s good medicine. It’s what my dad would’ve wanted. My dad was a writer. He spent some time writing sports and commentary… Read more
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Last night I attempted cooking, which in and of itself is a feat. I can honestly say, of the things I have been complimented, cooking is not one of them. There are people who are renowned simply for being a good cook. If their name comes up in conversation, people’s eyes roll back in their heads as they… Read more
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One of my posts was freshly pressed on Tuesday, and I was happier than a puppy with two tails. There wasn’t anything that could steal the lollipops and sunshine from my day. I was sliding down rainbows and hugging strangers. I didn’t really understand what it meant to be freshly pressed, and what I did know was due… Read more
Angel Wheeler 