Wise Words Archive

As we all continue planning for one of the fattest days of the year, I wanted to share with all of you some of my secrets for a successful holiday.

Growing up in a family where holidays were likely occasions for conflict, I learned some valuable deflecting skills. Now that I have a family of my own, I have perfected some of these techniques, broadening and deepening my coping strategies.

There is a song called “Joy,” performed by pianist George Winston, which I can credit in part with the beginning of my true writing life.

After college, I had originally gotten into social work and, although I was an English major, had not yet discovered the magic of writing. This song, along with a powerful friendship with someone at that time, connected the two.

Whenever I talk to my kids – or anyone else’s kids – about the future, I encourage them to find jobs they enjoy. You can work a job for a paycheck only so long before your soul dies a little.

I know, that sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Or at least it has been for me.

It’s a great time to be driving around, with so many local churches and organizations selling pumpkins to brighten up the season.

When I was a child, we thought we were being creative when we left a tooth or two in our pumpkin’s crooked carved grin. The eyes and nose were triangles. The slippery goo in the middle turned my stomach a little bit.

I was born and raised in a land of shade, with trees towering over our front yard and an acre of woods behind our house.

In Illinois, trees were as common as cockroaches are in Florida. And those trees weren’t distant cousins of the Christmas trees we cut down each year.

When we name our children, we are always going for something special.

Some of us name them after family members. Some are going for old-fashioned or biblical.

Since I last wrote this column, I have become the proud – if uncertain – owner of a rescued bearded dragon youngster. Rescued implies some dramatic heroism on my part, which is simply not the case.

Elbie, short for L.B., which is short for Little Beardie, had a lovely first few months of his youth with a Crestview family.

It’s a funny thing getting old. Not funny like Comedy Central, but funny like interesting.

You spend decades getting there but somehow fail to notice, and then you wake up one morning and the world has tilted a bit on its axis.

At work, I park near a vacant lot that is littered with debris, trees and the occasional burst of color.

Last week, I noticed that in addition to dozens of chaotic and prolific small yellow flowers, there were a few pale purple blooms.

It doesn’t really matter where I was 20 years ago Saturday, because I wasn’t in the Twin Towers or the Pentagon or flying over Pennsylvania.

But any American old enough to remember that day, remembers where they were when they heard what was happening, when they saw the images on television.