Frankly, I’m still agog.
Just so you know, the word agog is one I only carefully extract from its literary box to describe all things made unremarkable by the world weary ‘awesome.’
When you have an elderly dog and try to keep an immaculate home--
Sorry, evidently I was thinking of someone else. Let’s try that again.
When you have an elderly dog, it’s all you can do to keep your house presentable.
Watching the local weather forecast predicting perhaps an inch or so of snow for our area in the South Carolina Upstate, I texted Paul so that when he finished his evening meeting at our church he would stop to pick up dog food for our Rosie. When he appeared an hour later he was Paul Newman’s Organic Chicken can-less.
It’s not that I don’t think the world of Oprah--what’s not to like? She’s empathetic, philanthropic, completely self-made and enormously successful. In fact, particularly when considering the impoverished and abused childhood she endured, her jaw dropping career is the epitome of the American Dream.
Like many a weary folk, Paul and I were on the road after Christmas but unlike the others it had nothing to do with the holidays, and so neither of us were recovering from the wrench of leaving beloved family gatherings.
When Paul declared he had experienced not so much a sign, but an actual visit from a cherished pet, I looked up with a start.
A few days ago what might be considered one of the most touching gifts I’ve ever received was sent to me via email.
Just a couple of weeks ago I wrote about how Thanksgiving is so often bulldozed by everything that’s wrong about Christmas: commercialism, materialism, fighting over sales items instead of savoring time with loved ones.
This week I feel as if I’m experiencing a 180 in regards to decorating.
