... I'm writing again!
Now the laughing stops, because rather than driving to our appointment, I'm driving a fourteen year old crazy, again. So next thing I know I'm listening to teen aged frustration sputtering forth:
God Mom! What could you possibly be writing now?
I'm writing what just happened—that was too funny to forget—
I just know that, someday, I'll write about the time I watched you chew on my words.
And—20 years later, here it is!
Grow up with a teacher
Who writes about family
And your life may be recorded
On notecards
Stacks of them
Organized in order
Stored in a series of small file boxes
For posterity
Now, if we could piece together hidden memories inside our brains and straighten out distorted seams, which weave lumps and bumps into the fabric of our lives, perhaps we'd sit GRUMPY in a time out chair, so we can whistle while we work at resolving conflicts, and thus, spend more time feeling JHappy ... all around.
Then, again, I believe we can learn to do that very thing! J
Your friend, the eighth dwarf in line:
Hopeful
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