I’m a color junkie.

If the colors around me aren’t right, I’m not right either.

Science, along with chemistry, physics, biology, escapes me.

Last year Cliff had open-heart surgery at the Cleveland Clinic. Problem finally fixed after months of tinkering.

Nope.

I grew up in The Golden Age of Television’s predictable story lines.

We’ve had a year.

In March when Cliff had his stroke, time’s straight arrow failed me.

I’m amazed by what I don’t know.

In 1987 when U2 released the phenomenal Joshua Tree album, I thought they’d trekked to the desert, looking for this particular tree, the last of its kind, the monumental metaphor.

Children often puzzle over the right Mother’s Day gift.

On January 31st Cliff had quadruple heart bypass surgery.

Turning 13 was hard for me.

I left grade school, secure in my acceptance, for the devastation of junior high.

Pretty much everybody gets stuck at some point.

We have indeed had a year and then some.

One day when Maggie was in high school, she told me she’d asked the guidance counselor why they had so many team-sport assemblies: celebrating a line-up of kids, the same kids, repeatedly.

In early October, I flew to Seattle. Overall, the flight was perfect.

Still, one little boy’s first-time airline adventure stays with me.

We know the repetition of three is significant—in stories, in landscaping, in interior design.

This threesome began on Facebook. I couldn’t help seeing it.

I live in a network of small towns, civic islands scattered among Midwestern cornfield seas.

Nothing big happens here. We don’t expect it to either.

I insisted I did not want a dog.

I’ve owned several, all different—from rascal to renegade to royalty. I’d seen them through seizures, surgeries, and illnesses, cradling and carrying them to the finish.

But Maggie wanted a dog.

Angels were the stuff of fairy tales to me. Like unicorns, they seemed too good to be true.

Until I changed my mind.

This is about magic.

Not extravaganzas with whirling wand and prancing performer shouting “Presto Change-O!”

Something else entirely.

Although it’s taken a long time, I have another picture book coming out in 2022. No one wants to read about potato chips being bagged or cement being poured. If you aren’t interested in process, stop reading here.