Have you ever felt as though an inanimate object was cursed?  Or jinxed?  Like something always goes wrong with that thing?

That’s how I feel about my lawn tractor.

As I write this post, it is September 11, 2016. Fifteen years after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and a plane that crashed in the Pennsylvania countryside thanks to the heroism of passengers and crew.

A few weeks ago I went outside to dig in the dirt.  Weed and trim.  Enjoy the beautiful day.  There were a ton of weeds, as I haven’t really gotten to it much this year with all the traveling I’ve been doing.  I was in front of the house and cleared away some of those clover-like plants that spread like crazy.  The good part about those is that when you get the roots it clears a big space out.  You make progress pretty quickly.  Anyway, I got rid of those plants, and then I found this – the roses were completely covered up by some of the other plants.  Not weeds, but daylilies and Siberian iris.  So I moved the roses.

It was August and hot out.  It was quite sunny and dry on that particular day.  And those rose bushes immediately started wilting in the heat.

Twenty-five years ago, in August 1991, my husband Jerry and I moved into our first and only house.  It was brand new, and the paint was barely dry. (We had done the painting ourselves with the help of friends, family, and a power roller.)  Last night in honor of this special anniversary, I cleaned and polished the kitchen sink so it shone.

Yeah, there are a few bumps and scratches, but it’s still beautiful.  I guess the same thing could be said about me.  And you.

When I was married to Jerry, one of my favorite times of the day was coming home from work.  I would pull into the garage, get out of my car, and open the mudroom door.

As I approached the kitchen door, I could hear Jerry exclaiming, “The Honey's home!!”

My husband Jerry was a huge fan of horror movies.  In fact, his entire family was.  Me?  Not so much.  Which translated means, “they completely freak me out”.  The classic movie “Night of the Living Dead” was one of Jerry's favorites.  I couldn't watch it past the first few minutes.

Imagine my horror when I actually felt as though I had become one of them…the living dead.

Fear gripped us as we started down the mountain.  We were in Arizona on a motorcycle tour.  The others were more experienced riders, and used to the terrain out west.  We were used to riding rolling hills with trees and shrubs on the side of the road.  Here were sharp switchbacks and a steep drop-off to the right.

One false move and we could go hurtling off the side into the abyss below. 

Have you let in dirty feet this week?  What did they drag in with them?

Michele Cushatt’s life was turned upside down with a phone call.  5 ½ years ago, two days before Thanksgiving, a doctor called to tell her “It’s not good.”  That was code for “You have tongue cancer.”

As she describes in her book “Undone”, it felt like a gut punch. 

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

in the bleak midwinter, long ago.