When I lived in Alaska, I was an extraordinary minister of holy Communion to the homebound. Looking back, I’m rather amazed that I volunteered for this task, which often took me on ice-clogged roads that meandered haphazardly into the snowy hillsides of Anchorage.
The years have turned me into a much more timid driver.
The sun rose this morning in dramatic flourishes of pink and orange. Never mind that later the clouds and the gray winter reasserted themselves as members of my family left for the airport.
I am grateful for the memory of standing in the front room with my youngest daughter and marveling at the stunning moment that was today’s brief sunrise.
When I was a young woman, I went to the grocery store with my mom in the farm town where I grew up.
It was before the days of computerized cash registers that automatically revealed the amount of change due. You needed some rudimentary math skills back then to work at a store.
The Wednesday after the presidential election was a very emotional day in America.
Like millions of others, I was up way too late on election night, waiting for results to be clear before heading to a sleepless bed.
In the morning, social media exploded. No matter how one voted, passions prevailed. People exulted or were despondent; people were euphoric, depressed, angry, at times, simultaneously.