Live Simply. Love Deeply.

Glass Life slows and sounds become silent.  What feels like several seconds pass.  All motion stops as the air is distilled with the sound of crashing glass.  Shards fly.   I feel a sudden relief as I am glad I forgot to take my shoes off at the door.    I assess the situation and slowly nod my head as I think out-loud, "yep, that happened".  Another mason jar gone.  Poor soul.  You start with the big pieces.  One by one you collect the larger pieces to safely handle.  You go to the closet and get the broom to start tackling the smaller bits.  After the third time of going over every nook and cranny of the kitchen floor space you’re comfortable enough to continue the task that first led you to that mason jars fatal destiny.  What was I doing?  Oh yes, making dinner.   After a few days you forget that it even happened.  You move on.  You’ve picked up the initial mess and have fo...

Dirt The creek of the gate sends a chill up my spine; mixed with the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet, I’m taken back.   It’s my first game.  I lace up my cleats, straighten my CBA, orange ball cap and step out onto the tee ball field.   The smells engage my senses; dirt, freshly mowed grass, sweat (it was Louisiana after all…and no matter who you were, it was summer and you were sweating…) I was in right field.  And at some point between picking the dandelions and counting the ant hills I hear the crack of the bat at home plate.  The ball was coming straight at me.  It zipped on by (don’t be too judgmental…I was 6 and all too interested in how many bugs I could catch in one inning) and I began to chase after it.  The crowd began to chant my name as I ran towards the ball in hopes of throwing out the runner by the time she got to second base.  Upon hearing my name from the stands, my adrenaline sped through my veins. ...

1805 Do you ever wish you were from a different era? I have.  Mostly on days when I am frustrated with technology (like when it doesn’t work the way I think it should…or I can’t get information from one device to another…or when Siri misunderstands what I tell her over and over and over..(I think you get the idea).  In the moments where I fee like I may burst from my frustrations of misunderstanding technology, I have a desire to go back to a simpler time; like in 1805.  Where the smell of fresh linens and sky didn’t come from a can but from the laundry that hung on the line outside.  Where hand written snail mail was the greatest invention of the century.  When to tweet meant to mimic a bird, “tag me” involved chasing someone in a game, and writing on someone’s wall was called graffiti, and was a quite offensive and inappropriate gesture at that.  (Just to clarify, I don’t think I could survive in an 1805 real...