I have a much longer post written (in my head) tentatively titled “state of the Kauffmans,” but it will have to wait until a time when it’s not past my bedtime.
Until then, know that Cheryl’s recovery is going as planned, and she enjoyed a little get together with our parents to celebrate her birthday. (She was a little nervous about me wearing my Obama campaign shirt with…
Cheryl posted a couple comments to the last posts, in reply to the thoughts, good wishes, and prayers sent her way. I’m reposting them here to give them the visibility they’re due (and because one reflects well on me).
Thank you all for your good wishes and virtual lasagna. I just got home and am already feeling better. I have discovered they don’t let you sleep in the…
Naturally, the first song to pop up on a random play of the songs on my phone would be “Hymn to the Fallen.”
Hospitals have been a benign place most of my life. While not exactly money in the pocket of a forgotten pair of jeans, it hasn’t been the center for suffering and death it can be for others. Growing up I had my share of stitches, broken bones, and dislocated hips. The…
I turned on the television this evening and was shocked. Then shock turned to panic. Then panic merged with anger and betrayal.
I rushed across the house.
“Cheryl, did you watch any television today?”
“No, why?”
Ignoring her question: “Do you know who was the last person to watch the television in the family room?”
“I can’t think of anyone right…
I was having a good day. Everything was fine until I heard one stray comment. Do you have days like this? Can one or two sentences ruin it for you? I wish I could say I have the self assurance to shrug off what other people think and say, but it’s not me. Not at all. It sticks with me. It burrows and churns through my mind, infecting everything that follows.
“I don’t get it.
Beth doesn’t look forward to school. She’s not afraid of the subjects or the work. She’s one of many of children who go to school afraid of the other kids.
I was one of those kids. I’ve been thinking about my school days a lot lately, with all the messages I’ve received about a high school reunion coming up this year. The small minded, vengeful little prick in me…
The Mac turned 25 this week. I’m one of the privileged few to have one all this time. I was twelve when my father came home from Ray’s Connecting Point with the first Mac. I didn’t buy my own Mac until my freshman year at UF – a sweet Mac Plus with a full MB of RAM, an external hard drive, and an ImageWriter II – a set up that only set me back a few grand of…