Our daughter, Rachel's, senior year is here at last. It's been a flurry of SAT Saturdays and scholarship application deadlines. Every day the mailbox is full of brochures and invitations from colleges as far away as Maine and Hawaii.
Last week I bumped into the daughter of an acquaintance. I hadn't seen her since she was in middle school and, now, here she was with a brand new baby. The infant was adorable, dressed in a camouflage-patterned green sleeper and a white hat.
When my daughter, Molly, was in grade school, there was a bookstore in the shopping center where my business is located.
Every now and then I like to write an epilogue column. As I've said in the past, most stories don't have an ending, just more story. And so it is with the Greyhound story.
"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!" - King Lear, act 1, scene 4
Murphy's Law asserts that if something can go wrong, it will. I'd like to offer Glazer's Axiom: Bad news always arrives on Friday after 6 p.m.
The hen must have escaped from a poultry truck. She crouched in the middle of the lane, trembling as passing cars whooshed by her. A couple of them whooshed over her.
I've done some challenging things in my life. I've earned graduate degrees, worked with some of Georgia's most hardened criminals, even managed to keep a small business afloat during these scary economic times.
Molly, our oldest daughter, had been driving for three months when she totaled her car. She hit a patch of black ice and skidded nose-first into a ditch. The driver behind her hit the same patch and slammed into the back of her car. Her little green Honda was compressed to the size of a Mini Cooper.
Our Ginger was adopted from the Hall County Animal Shelter in February 2010. Just as most parents are certain their child is exceptional, most rescue pet owners are sure that they lucked up on an extraordinary dog or cat. We're no different.
I almost called in sick this week.
Jay Rodgers and his family were on their way home from a Tim McGraw concert last month when they stopped at a gas station in Atlanta. As he was going into the station, he held the door for another man to enter.
It was one of those stupid, senseless things, the kind that makes me shake my head and mutter, "Damn fool kids."
One April afternoon I was having a feel-good moment watching a mother and her adult daughter shop together. They were holding up blouses and gently teasing one another about their choices and preferences.
I've never cared for reality television. That sometimes puts me at odds with the rest of the family. My husband never misses a "Cops" marathon. One daughter loves "America's Next Top Model" and "Ace of Cakes," while the other, inexplicably, sets out hors d'oeuvres and invites friends over to watch "Jersey Shore."
I came of age in the 1970s. Carole King composed the soundtrack to my early college years. And not just mine, it appears. Her 1971 album, "Tapestry" is, even to this day, one of the best-selling albums of all time.
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