Growing up in South Carolina, I probably saw snow a handful of times in my formative years, always a wet, slushy mess. On my fourteenth birthday, it snowed several inches. I remember getting out and playing in it with my then-boyfriend.Continue Reading
For much of the month of August, I’ve been writing about my father. He loves to be the center of attention, so he mostly doesn’t mind.
But this week, I’ve come to realize that recording these stories is about more than writing a daily blog post that’s worth a read. I know the regret behind some of these stories. The roads not taken. Recording them is a way of constantly challenging myself to live life.Continue Reading
Do you know a picky eater? I mean, besides your children, because part of being a child is hating whatever our parents want us to eat, right?
I guess my father is a child. Or, he’s showing me what a pain I was as a child. Or something.Continue Reading