After I finished driver's training, I thought I was road-ready, but passing the behind-the-wheel driver's test turned out to be something like climbing Mt. Everest. It took me four tries to pass it. The first was not entirely due to poor driving.
I have always been a nervous driver, afraid I’ll zig when I should zag. That fear started the first time I sat in the driver’s seat.
The other day, I watched one neighboring squirrel raid the nest of the homesteader in our front yard tree. A few days later, the homesteader buried another cache of nuts on our boulevard. As soon as he left, the neighbor came over, searched, pillaged and re-buried our homesteader's bounty. No wonder the homesteader can't find his stockpile!
A child's question sparks inspiration for a poem.
My young son asked, “Momma, who do you love more? Me or Nicki?” I had to think. I knew the stock answer was, “I love you both the same,” but I didn’t. I loved some qualities about him that she didn’t have and she had some lovable qualities that I didn’t see in him.
Our feet had walked and waded through every path and creek we could find. We had built our forts and dismantled them. We rebuilt some of them and later abandoned them. The days were hot, too hot for outdoor play, and so after supper we all ventured into the dusk to reconnect our friendships with backyard and front-yard games.