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turning pages: one moment worth noting. RSS

sting like a bee

When I was young, my father was a huge fan of Muhammad Ali. He would watch his fights as if they were in a student/teacher relationship of epic proportion. As a long haul truck driver, my dad spent most mornings when he was home, glued to the television set memorizing Ali's moves, which then meant that most mornings my dad was home, I was perched on his lap, taking in the greatness of one of the most skilled fighters of all time.But, as is often my approach to life, landing a punch wasn't holding my attention as much as the man standing in Ali's corner. I've always been enamored with the people cheering on the sidelines. Who they're cheering for......

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keenly aware

This week, because of a fire last Fall, we are staying in a cabin on the Siletz River in Lincoln County while contractors work on some of the larger renovations in our home. It's been wonderfully quiet... in part because of spotty wi-fi and almost no cell phone reception... but also because there's only a handful of humanity here. One side of the river is lined with modest cabins, some with full time residents, most as vacation homes sitting empty because of the lack of pandemic tourism. The other side of the river is wilderness. Nothing but a cathedral of tree line as far as the eye can see.  We opted for a spot like this because, in a time...

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The past few weeks have been rife with outcries from hurting humans, in particular in the Black community. As a family, even a multi-racial family, the pain and suffering that we thought we were used to witnessing, addressing, and lamenting because of what we perceive to be our own powerlessness, has come into focus almost like it's new. The anguish that our black friends have shared has been deafening... absolutely deafening. And the fact that it has been so startling to hear their hurt in this way, makes us wonder if we have ever been listening at all. As peddlers of small notebooks made for people to put their stories, their hurt, their wonder, and daily dreams we have spent...

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just a smidge

6 years, 6 months, 22 days Dear Frijolita: I almost quit my day job because of you. At bedtime, while reading The BFG, you realized we were one chapter from the end, but I was about to wrap up reading our one chapter for the night... leaving just a smidge of the book for tomorrow. All of a sudden you slapped your hand onto the book and said, "Mama, I worked hard at Crafty Wonderland (a local craft show that allows kids to sell their wares) and saved a bunch of money this year from my birthday. I think I can afford to pay you $100 to read that last chapter, right this moment." At one hundred bucks a chapter, I...

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It's not lost on me that today, all these years later, I'm wearing a mask out into the world again...

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