Sunsets

Sunsets are probably my favorite part of the day.

From my desk I can look out the back door over the hillside and watch as the sun disappears every evening. Some nights the sky is shades of red and gold, other nights it becomes wild shades of purple. Every night it's a masterpiece.

This was the view from this evening...probably just a minute or two later than when I would have liked to have taken it.

The sky was alive and vibrant, and the light reflecting from the clouds made them look as if they had been painted directly onto a canvas and hung in the sky. It was magical perfection, exactly the way the universe intended it to be.

I watched the sun as it continued its retreat behind the hillside and as another day came to an end....and I smiled.

Signs of Spring

The official mark of a new Spring is when the lilac bush in my back yard begins to bloom.

Wow...

There's no better smell in the world!





After I posted these pictures it made me remember one that I took about 10 years ago when the same lilac bush was in bloom.

She was so little back then...
So sweet...
So adorable...
But every bit as loud as she is today.

Warning!

Oh the land that is Heather is never a dull place to be. There is always some crisis or some drama that is worthy of a soap opera....today was no different.

The text message was simple: "I'm dead."

Well, considering the fact that my daughter actually had full use of her digits and was able to send a text message, I was pretty certain that she was slightly over exaggerating her situation.

However, the fact that she sent the text message to her father instead of to me lent to the fact that she was of the understanding that her life could very well be in some jeopardy.

"Oh crap," I said and flipped open my handy-dandy online planner. "It's time for mid-terms."

Exactly 3 minutes and 32 seconds later the school bus was pulling to a stop in front of our house and I could literally feel my daughter clench when she saw my car already parked in the driveway.

She walked into the backdoor as silently as possible, and without saying a word I held out my hand.

Still speechless she reached into her backpack and pulled out a single sheet of purple paper, placed it into my hand then stepped far outside of my reach.

"It's that bad?" her dad asked standing in the doorway.

From the corner of my eye I could see her nervously chewing on her fingernail and I looked down at the purple piece of paper.

Social Studies - A
Language - A
Tech. Ed. - A
Science - B
Health/PE - A
Journalism - A
Math - D

"You understand that math is a required subject?" I asked calmly.

She nodded, still chewing on her fingernail.

I sought hard for the right words. Should I threaten her? Should I punish her? Should I demand that she try harder? Should I just yell and scream until my face turned 14 shades of red and purple?

In a single second I chose an entirely different approach: rationalization.

"Explain to me," I said, "how it is possible that you can spend countless hours on Myspace chatting with your friends, send more than a thousand text messages every month, and use 400 sheets of paper writing notes to your newest BFF, but you can't seem to find the time to study your math?"

"Cause," she paused briefly, "that stuff is hard."

"Then work harder at it."

"But...." she stammered, "it's really really hard."

"Then ask for help."

"But what if you don't have the answer?"

"Then the giant answer box sitting in the kitchen can be used to help you out."

She looked at me puzzled for a second then smiled as I watched the dim light bulb appear over her head.

"You mean the computer don't you?"

"Yep."

"It does math?"

That does it....
I'm buying that kid a t-shirt that says:
"WARNING: I'm really a blonde"

How much do you love me?

My 14 year old daughter hovered in the doorway between the kitchen and the family room, trying hard not to look completely obvious.

From the corner of my eye I saw her clearly, and it reminded me of when she was three years old and would try to sneak cookies from the kitchen to her bedroom without being discovered.

Without looking away from my computer monitor I spoke to her.

"Okay kid, what do you want?"

"Huh?" she poked her head around the door and tried to look surprised.

"You're hovering," I said as I turned to look directly at her, "the only time you hover is when you want something."

"But..." she tried hard to come up with some valid excuse but my x-ray smile penetrated her.

"Out with it pumpkin pie."

In an instant her entire mood shifted and she was standing at my side, her head laying on my shoulder.

"Mommy," she asked in the same sweet voice as the three year old with cookies in her pocket, "how much do you love me?"

"Did you do something wrong?"

"Nope," she smiled sweetly and batted her giant eyelashes.

"Is this going to cost me anything?"

"Nope," she snuggled closer to me.

"Do you have cookies in your pocket?"

"What?"

"Never mind," I turned around to face her head on, "what is it that you want."

"I was just wondering...." she paused for a second.

"Wondering what?"

"If I could have a friend over tomorrow night?" she smiled again, this time making sure every tooth in her mouth was visible.

"It means you have to clean up your room." I said and turned back to my computer screen.

"So that's a yes?"

"On the condition that you clean your room."

"YES!" she screamed and ran from the room.

It only took her three hours to clear out the cavernous bedroom heaped with the relics of her childhood.

"Come look!" she announced happily and I followed her down the hall to her room.

"Wow," I was stunned as I looked over her accomplishment. "I didn't know you had a rug in here."

"You like it?" She smiled sweetly and jumped into her freshly made bed.

"I love it," I said and leaned over to kiss her forehead the same way I had done when she was three years old, "but not as much as I love you."

Time Flies...

It's not the most original of sayings, in fact it's rather cliché, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Time really does fly.

I was 17 years old the day my son was born, and I can remember that day so vividly that it might as well have happened yesterday.
The same way I remember when he said his first words...
Took his first steps...
Rode his bike for the first time...
Went to his first day of school...

Time really does fly.


This past weekend, as I watched my now 18 year old son get dressed for his senior prom I found myself wondering exactly how time managed to go by so quickly. How was it possible that the man standing in front of me was the same little boy that I had once held in my arms?


I couldn't help but smile as I watched him slip on the tuxedo jacket and straighten his tie.

18 years ago I was certain that I'd met the man who would change my life forever...

I was right.

Way back when...

I began my official writing career way back when I started working for Green Banner Publications.

It was during the summer of 1996 when I saw the ad in the paper announcing that the local newspaper was hiring a pre-press assistant. I had absolutely no idea what a pre-press assistant did, nor did I have any experience which would signify that I would be good for the job. The only thing I did know, was that if I got a job at the newspaper then I might eventually get the opportunity to show them what I could really do.

I filled out the application with a lot of aprehension, and submitted it to the local office the next day. Much to my surprise, I was called in for an interview. Equally to my surprise, I was being interviewed for a newswriters position which had currently come open.

Go me.

I did my little happy dance, and gleefully put in my notice at the local grocery store. I was moving on to bigger and better things, and I was optimistic about the possibilities that it had in store. It wasn't long, February of that same year, that I began writing the weekly column that appeared in our publications.

Those were the "cloud nine" days of my writing career, and in my mind I was doing all of the things I had always dreamed of.

Funny how dreams sometimes get lost in the midst of real life...

In 2000, I gave up writing for the paper so that I could take over the position as Production Manager. It was a far cry from my "dream job", but the hours meant that I could spend more time at home with my children.

The decision was worth making, but in the years since I've missed writing the weekly column that took a peek into the ordinary life of an ordinary person. And in the years since, I've come to realize that writing wasn't just something that I did, it was who I was.

It was from those very humble beginnings, stuck at a tiny desk in a dusty office typing up stories about chili suppers and community events, that I realized what I was meant to do...

Now it's time to do it.