never stops teaching.
Journaling for awareness. Growing for life.
She had a very distinct handwriting. Precise and elegant. We treasure recipes, post cards, and letters that preserve her script. That is why I knew who the card was from when it came. I was dreaming, of course—my grandmother has been dead for several years. But it was as real as anything.
My mind had been spinning the night before the dream. I had been asked to meet a new challenge, one that might have felt pretty manageable had it not been ushered in by so many others. As a mother, it has been a year of “new” – middle school, new friends, even a new place to live while we renovate our home. “New” has meant discovering my youngest son’s …