Each first reopens the wound. It might be picking at the edges of the scab; just enough to satisfy the itch and prickle the nerves, or it to rip it right off entirely exposing the raw new flesh encircling the deep gaping hole in the middle.
As a child I lived on base. We stopped and turned in the direction of the flag every night at dusk, whether it was in view or not. We stood silently as Taps played. We honored the flag, all it represents, and all who serve.
That said, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
I slid into a tube, on my knees, draped over a barrel. With my head tucked in, arms stretched ahead Super Girl style, my hooters hung out like socks on a clothesline. Headphones in place, I closed my eyes & tried to melt into the techno beat of an MRI machine. Just before this…
It was a morning like so many others. My son woke up before sunrise. His heavy footfalls on the bunk bed steps would probably wake me anyway, but amplified by the monitor that still sits by my bedside, he sounds like a small elephant crashing through any dream world I might be in. True…
This post first appeared on my MySpace page back in June of 2007 under the title “Things Mom Taught Me”. It was one of two posts I wrote to honor my mom on the third anniversary of her death. Some of these pearls were passed along as advice. Most are just the kernels I gleaned…
