I’d been called ma’am at least two dozen times in the past week, and despite learning the term was a southern courtesy used on any woman, it still set my teeth on edge. Unless you were geriatric, no one used ‘ma’am’ up north.
Grief was a capricious companion. Sometimes distant and aloof. Sometimes so overwhelming it was hard to think a straight thought. Its mood changed at whim, making it emotionally exhausting to keep up.
You’re smart to leave the past behind you. Otherwise, if you keep looking over your shoulder at it, you might miss what’s right ahead of you.
As I sang the ABC’s in my head – another trick my therapist had taught me to refocus my thoughts –.
Peonies are a gift from the heavens above. I mean, just look at this flower, so big and round. The ruffled petals that look like they belong on a ball gown? Absolute perfection. That scent? It always reminds me of rose and jasmine. I sell these stems at the Sweetplace, but there’s no better place for them than in a wedding bouquet, since peonies represent a happy marriage and a happy life. Mix them with some good stock in a bouquet, and well, you’re kicking married life off right.
Some people consider moss a nuisance, but I find it to be utterly beautiful in its simplicity. Moss symbolizes a charitable nature and a mother’s love, and every time I see it, it makes me remember my mama. She’s the one who taught me – and Bee – all about the language of flowers.
Seems to me there’s a whole lot of people around here carrying around a heap of pain tied to the past. Might be time to start letting that go and start healing.
You haven’t had a piece of pie yet, have you, sonny boy?
History shapes us, molds us, forms us. You’re where you are now because of where you’ve been and the choices you’ve made. You have to ask yourself, Am I happy? Because if not, every day is a new day to start over.
This is the South after all, where there’s always a touch of magic in the air.
It was a familiar pattern – Mama often kept me in the dark on important matters.
For me, the library had been my Narnia, a magical place that took me away to another land, where I learned more than I had ever hoped. Librarians instinctively took me under their wings, protecting me as much as they could from the evils inherent in my mother’s way of life. Books had become my refuge, my only friends, family, my escape from my everyday reality.
I’d yet to find a place that felt like home, something I wanted very much.
The blackbirds have been here all my life. Midnight till one in the morning. They sing the prettiest songs you’ll ever hear.
I’d always considered the crook of his arm to be the safest place in the whole world.
Family was forever. For better or for worse.
It’s past time to stop blaming and start healing.
Sometimes people lie to protect the ones they love.
Once upon a time, there was a family of Celtic women with healing hands and giving hearts, who knew the value of the earth and used its abundance to heal, to soothe, to comfort.
Life is too short, too fragile, too precious to hide in the shadows of what might have been. If continuously looking behind, you risk missing the possibilities that lie ahead.
Tragedy, accidents especially, rarely come with reasons why. Yet, we look for them everywhere. We blame. We deny. We carry guilt, regrets. Sometimes, and this is hard to accept but you must, it is simply that person’s time to go. We are all here on borrowed time.