The Dabbler

I am reading  Where the Heart Lives Collection . The series follows three siblings who were born in Chicago latter half of the 1800’s. At the ages of 13, 10 & 6 yrs. old) the children, after their mother dies, are sent to live with western families. The following excerpts touched a chord with me. What would you think of a person who says the following...    ...”And you were never at fault…You were an innocent victim…my resentment…my complete selfishness…I’ve said I’m sorry, but I know words don’t mean much…I can’t undo it. Not any of it. No matter how hard I try, I can’t change the past…”*            What, then, if the person continues to engage in the offending activity? Might as well never have said anything. Which is more important: speaking words or expressing those words through actions? Shouldn't integrity and respect take precedence over fulfilling the desires of your ego? At least the character, in the book, admi...

Several years ago I was stopped at a stoplight in St. Paul at the corner of Larpenteur and Edgerton; I was on Edgerton. When the light turned green I tried to move my foot from the break to the gas pedal; however, the soul of my tennis shoe had caught on the brake pedal. Not sure how the shoe became caught but it did. It didn’t take long to free the shoe and prepare to enter the intersection-thirty seconds, maybe a minute after the light had changed. I looked up, before I proceeding into the intersection, just in time to see a vehicle speed through the intersection heading south on Larpenteur. Had my shoe not caught on the brake pedal that car would have hit me broad-side. Was this a coincidence or destiny? Approximately a year after I moved to Las Vegas from St. Paul, the I35 Bridge collapsed. I had used that bridge every day, after all it was only five minutes from my home. There was a women who avoided that bridge; however, the day it fell she was on it. She died. Destiny or bad ...

Sisters! They come in all shapes, sizes, colors and personalities. Many people have them or are them. I have six sisters; however, several of them look a little like me! Actually it’s that all of us look a little like our mother especially as we’ve grown older. We are as different as we are similar. There are four brunettes (various shades); two redheads; and, one sort of sandy-brownish colored; we’re all short, some more so than others; and, there is sixteen years between the oldest and the youngest. Most of us can cook quite well; most of us have education beyond high school; only 3 are married; one is a widower; four live in our home state of Wisconsin; many of us have unfinished stitch projects; all of us have had pets at one time; and, several have grey, thinning hair. Holidays, hand-me-downs, unbridled emotions, births and deaths; we’ve shared it all. Well, maybe not all. All seven of us are still alive. Cooking is a tasty adventure. Some of us even enjoy it and create awesome...

Following is a second excerpt from Letters to Aunt Hattie:  Hattie walked across the cabin floor pulling the broom with her trying to clean. ‘What is the use,’ she thought, ‘it will be dirty again soon anyway. ‘   She stopped next to the fireplace placing her hand atop the mantle to rest for a minute.  The fireplace, made from rough, hand-made red bricks was the focal point of the main cabin area.  Covering the floor in front of the fireplace was a huge, red and tan, hand-braided rug; the rug was old but still in good shape.  On the wall opposite and directly in front of the fireplace was the front door.  When someone visited they could choose to sit in her rocking chair, an armless chair or the double-seat wood frame bench.  The bench was placed to the left of and parallel to the fireplace; whereas, the armless chair spent much of its time these days shoved against the wall to the left of the fireplace. ...

I returned from our Change of Watch late and went straight to bed.  Sometime around midnight I woke up and realized the boat was too quite.  Our cat, Little Miss, is normally quite active at night as cat’s like to be.  I checked around the boat but couldn’t find her in any of her favorite sleeping spots so I woke Kevin up.  The two of us began searching in cabinets and on the aft sundeck and fly-bridge.  My head was beginning to think bad thoughts that my heart wasn’t willing to accept.    Then we heard her meow.  Kevin had shined his flashlight onto the dock which she must have seen.  He shinned light again, she meowed again followed by Kevin hollering, “Jean, she’s on the dock.”  I ran to the door just as Kevin bolted down the steps onto the dock.  He reached an access panel on the dock just behind the stern of our boat.  Kevin had lifted one panel and was reaching for the second panel by the time I arrived.  He r...