A Place to Come Home To

Whether it was a trip packed with cousins, grandparents, tea parties, war parties in the big field behind Aunt Judy’s house, or singing schools, meetings or spending the night at a friend’s house, it was good to come home. Same old home. Same old creaky board, same ole cat in the bushes waiting to jump out at you just before you reach the steps. There were so many things just the same. And there was a sense of security and comfort in going back to the things you could count on. So many wholesome things too, that I see more now, took a great deal of effort and deliberate action on Mama and Daddy’s part. Mama’s cheerful grin and peck on the cheek as she squeezed a good morning hug, daddy’s bacon and eggs, the traditions of making each birthday count, each accomplishment of your children something to brag about at the table that night – and being at the table each night, everyone, all together. You talked about your day, and things coming up and the funnies that stood out to you.

jan17-3313John Barrett and I jumped into this marriage and family thing, just like everyone else who doesn’t feel qualified. It’s amazing to me that we get to be Home for our kids. That we have the privilege of creating that same beauty of home with all its traditions, warmth and comfort. Sometimes I think – I don’t know where in the world to begin! But I do. It’s been instilled through the careful diligence of parents who kept on keeping on with the daily samenesses that seemed, I’m sure, tedious and almost pointless at times. But knowing I’d not go to sleep without Daddy praying over me, Mama singing over me, and saying “Good night! God bless and keep you through the night! I love you,” bound my heart even to the close of day, with another layer of love and safekeeping. jan17-3291

Now Mama comes and helps me with birth and labor, and with the carrying – on of creating that place you carry with you the rest of your life. Home isn’t a perfect place. You learn Things To Do, and things you Don’t Want To Do from it. But you learn, and still know more how to shape and create an environment of nurture from having experienced family and home yourself. jan17-3330jan17-3373

Recently, Grandmama went through the exhausting process of selling her house. Uncle David, Aunt Judy, Mama – they all helped. But what stood out to Anne and me vividly even this past week, was that it wasn’t just the house they were selling, it was the home my mama, aunt and uncle had known. And even grown as they are, in their 50’s and 60’s, that was tear-jerking, heart-wrending and just plain hard. Home registers deeply. Not all my friends had great homes growing up, but they are now a creating lovely atmospheres and traditions that will help shape beautiful lives and memories for their own kids. Family is a strong and powerful design, that has held the structure of society on its shoulders for millenniums. So, all you fellow family growers, and family members, take heart in all these traditions, these bits of sameness, routine, love and tradition. Thanks to them and your parents, they are the incognito silently arranging and cementing that wonderful place you get to cherish and come home to.jan17-3458jan17-3463

Daniel when he was just 3 weeks old and soooo litttttle (insert 10 cry faces and 15 heart eyes, of course) jan17-3475jan17-3478

I…..don’t know where she gets these faces….But they are INTENSE.jan17-3553jan17-3490“Uhhhhm….Mama, you should see this…just letting you know…it’s white, fluffy and falling from the sky…”


We felt all pioneer drying our shoes and hats by the fire after staying a whole 3 minutes in the snow. jan17-3639jan17-3640jan17-3698jan17-3701Daddy’s lunch break means as much attention she can steal from him in an hour. jan17-3740jan17-3753

Carrot stick adds to the photo. BF-4916BF-4937BF-4954BF-4972

How, Chief.BF-4975BF-4991Sometimes hotels can have pretty headboards, I discovered. And this kid loves her little brother. I’m so glad that the massive mullet on her head ends in those three perfect curls which look simply divine with a bonnet on – and comically out of place without it.

Happy Wednesday, y’all!

The Love Story 7.


What I knew at the beginning of the day was that I had been scared to death of not doing a good enough job. The bride was a photographer I respected, so were her parents. I was a peewee from Georgia, who liked taking pictures of mailboxes and frogs. And people – when I got up the courage. But what I didn’t know was that that ceremony would be blazed on my mind’s eye as clear as day, and many a time afterwards I’d visit that scene.


It was hot, early June of 2013, and my leg was falling asleep. I was crouching at the front of the rows of chairs under a canopy of trees. To my left, clearly in view, were the bride and groom. On the right, an elderly woman smiled at me from the front row. A few minutes earlier, she’d had a paper bag on her head, shielding her from the thick drops of warm falling rain. Grey, purple clouds rolled over the surrounding green fields, and threatened more rain, which came eventually.  The joy this couple felt wasn’t about to be dampened by any shower or torrent of rain, though. I was photographing a wedding in Franklin, Tennessee, hoping I didn’t miss a shot, hoping I didn’t trip or have a sneezing fit or chew nervously on the gum I forgot to spit out. Just before the wedding party had emerged, the sun broke through in brilliant shafts of gold. It couldn’t have been planned more beautifully, and I felt like it was a gift God had tailored Himself for the occasion. The bride came down the aisle, took the groom’s hands and as they looked at each other, I was struck with the apparent joy and radiance of both of them…It is still bright in my mind. No hesitation. No fear. No questions. Just a full happiness. And this – this raw openness of love for each other seared away at my mind. I took in this whole scene…the birds singing high, the lush green surrounding us, the fragrance of warm, wet earth from summer rain. And the bride and groom…what was it about them?  I felt they were truly looking through the eyes into the soul of the other. There was a confidence in knowing…they were Home. Home to each other. That this person was the One out of All the Other People On The Planet that they’d rather be with. Forever. And a comfortability of Being. I felt that, in a strange way, they saw not just the person standing there at that moment, but that they were looking at – and loving – every facet of that person they’d ever known – good and bad and present and past, silly, sweet, sad, moody, stressed, happy and Less Than Up to Par. I sensed, too, that Completeness which only comes when another person unlocks the Rest Of You. Unlocks the ability to function as you, and More Than You. The You that you Want to be, but need the courage or permission and strength to be. And the amazing thing was that there was no shock or hesitation from what they saw. Thoroughly, they saw, and they adored that person. It was visible. Unmistakeable. And it registered somewhere deep inside.

Later in June, I sat at the kitchen table of the Grey Submarine, a pencil suspended in my hand, while I dazed into space and looked, I suspect, perplexed. Mama glanced at me. Then emptied her armload of tasks onto the table, poured herself and me a cup of tea, and sat down.”What’cha thinkin’ about, darlin’?” It’s no use saying “Nothing” to the woman who, out of all women, knows you best. So I told her what I’d been afraid to say, even to myself. That what I’d seen that day in June had made itself unforgettable to me… That I wanted that for myself…Was that too much to ask? Was it…selfish? Was it unrealistic? I was in a relationship at the time, and while so much seemed good and right, there were still things I doubted – things I couldn’t even put a finger on – but that kept me from having a complete peace and calm with it. The reasons I could name seemed trivial and not worth giving up a whole relationship over. And I wrestled with the issue – push on? give up? But That Day in June…that couple…that Wholeness they exuded…I couldn’t shake it.

I was told, “Listen to your doubts. God allows us to have them for a reason. There’s a Third to your relationship, and in those moments when you think ‘mmm…something isn’t right,’ that is Him.” I ended the relationship and decided to hold out for what I’d seen in June. I’d wait for that soul-seeing person.

Well, now, almost a year later, here I was, sweeping my floor, while Daddy went to pick up “That fellow from Texas” at the airport. All week I’d felt perturbed. Why was he coming?  From January to April we’d only messaged on Facebook, sent a couple of letters, had a couple of phone calls. All of this was surface based stuff. He’d never said he liked me. Never expressed a deep interest. Truth be told, it ruffled my feathers that he didn’t. (As if it wasn’t fair for the man not to know, when we’d not spent two whole days around each other!) Nevertheless, I, in turn, convinced myself I wasn’t so very interested…After all, there are other fish in the sea…(this was pure self defense in case he decided he didn’t like me after all). He’d written in a letter that, Nothing so well helps a person to get to know another than being face to face. He hoped in coming we could better know whether to pursue or leave off the relationship.

chip on your chiseled shoulder, Ma’am

Note. This is highly un – Politically Correct. If you disagree, please comment with respect, or not at all. 

Processed with VSCO with s2 presetThere’s a lot of talk nowadays about us women – what we deserve, what we go through just Being Women; how great we are and how everyone needs to acknowledge that. We make the world go round. We are, after all, Women.

This morning, as I walked into the hotel breakfast room, I tried to be aware of my countenance. So often in our culture now, women are sour, dour and defensive. Not readily do you find a woman without a chip on her shoulder; without a hardened shell.  That shows through her countenance. But the loveliness in a tender heart and womanly, gentle and vulnerable, cannot be ignored. Quite the contrary, it is refreshingly stark against the coarse visage of the Modern Woman. It’s like a spring scene after winter. It is what the songs, poems and love stories of old were based on – that creature full of grace, tenderness, and forgiveness, soft speech, gentle words and kind. She who laughs merrily – not from spite or anger and doesn’t wallow in pity parties (hello, me). She is the lady who trusts, depends on her man and isn’t ashamed that she needs him; rather she honestly acknowledges that need, and he is propelled all the more to be the man she deserves. Such songs and poems couldn’t be written now, because such poetry required a lady to win, woo, defend and protect. But we don’t need defending by anyone. We are women. We defend ourselves. So men hesitate to open doors for us, or compliment our womanliness, or, indeed, acknowledge any difference at all. Processed with VSCO with s2 presetThere is so much in Man to be admired: their strength, courage, nobility and chivalry, their calm under fire, their ability to defend and to strategize, their consistent hard work. The things about them that are simply different than us girls, physically, mentally and emotionally, are worth praising. They are things to admire in them, not belittle. And yet, they are belittled. I hope in all this mad grasping for our own recognition, that we will pause. This mindset of Women’s Rights, Women Rule, Women, Women, Women is so prevalent, that sometimes we swallow the draught without examining it, and the damage it causes to men, our families, and our social structure. Its mantras can run through our heads, out our mouths and integrate into our actions, with barely any notice from us at all.

It is damaging though. When men cannot be Manly Men, and are cowed by us into submission of our Wants, Our Needs, Our Rights, our structure dissolves away.  God created us ladies with the capacity of tenderness, durability, enabling, inspiring, nurturing and encouraging. But it’s not through singing our own praises that we achieve our greatness. It’s in focusing on the success, the needs and the fulfillment of others. How I do hope that I can do that. And that my husband will not feel demeaned, unneeded or disrespected in this age of Women Who Need No-one. The truth is, we do. And our men are worthy of praise and respect.

This morning, I tried to be aware of my countenance simply because I don’t want the dour, armor plaited hardness of the Modern Woman anywhere in my heart, face or demeanor. I want, and hope that all we ladies, can examine the loveliness of a woman as first intended, without this warped hardness, bitterness and self – boasting, for it is truly a wondrous masterpiece.



Since Writing Last

dec16-1979No. I didn’t teach her that – not on purpose, at least.

That would be a lot. A lot happens in half a year, but in summary:

  • July – August was spent moving into our beautiful house that smelled awful. And thanking Mama and Daddy for driving 1200 miles to help us paint. Well – they and JB and the church painted our house while I laid over the bathtub crying and throwing up. Me and Bella both. Somehow, we were pulled through and got moved into 60th Street.
  • August – built towers with all our boxes and stumbled between them through the mounds of clothes that dared us to wash them. Then we ran away from all of it to the beaches of Georgia, where we hung out with my family, ate crazy good food, read books, swam in the ocean at twilight and constantly dodged the water gun wars from the boys.
  • September – Ruidoso. Mountains, fresh air, long hikes, ice cream cones, early morning sunrises on the front porch. We went with JB’s side of the family and basked in a much appreciated break from the moving + work travel…even though we were only home from the beach for two weeks… Hey – two vacations in two months felt like necessity.
  • October – Back to Georgia to photograph a sweet wedding and soak up all the family time I could. But I was ready to come home to that Texan. He doesn’t get easier to leave on travel. It gets worse. And I found myself stalking his Facebook page all over again night after night, feeling more miserable and homesick for him than ever.
  • November – Thanksgiving  and TWO Thanksgiving meals…I’m all about that twice, and packing an outfit a size larger for the trip home. And stopping every 20 minutes for the bathroom because that’s what a woman a month away from her due date does. She also says “thanks babe” a hundred times and promises foot and back rubs as peace offerings as she crunches her way through the 32 oz. cup of crushed ice. It’s like you CAN NOT help yourself – no matter how annoying it sounds to crunch on ice for 14 hours.
  • December 15th – Daniel Barrett Watson arrived. And all of my family came from Georgia to celebrate Christmas + Baby with us. Except for one sister and her crew, we were all together and I had my own  Hallmark worthy Christmas Miracle. John Barrett told me one night, “I feel like I’ve seen so many glittery, shiny, sappy Hallmark movies that I need to watch something explode.” Shortly afterwards, he bought a chain saw and he and the fellows spent half a day trimming our two live trees (aka, sawing, yelling, climbing on the roof and in the trees and using big muscles to throw big limbs off the roof, getting all bloodied up and worn out. Lemme tell ya, a sweaty, hard workin’ man is tops in my book. JB likes making me drool like that.)
  • January – We’re flying solo now. All Mamas gone, and us still feeling the love ringing from them being here. We are surviving, and that’s success. I’m finding panties in my pots and chewed up gum on the floor, pages from the Bible torn out, (I’m sorry, Lord, I told her not to) detergent bottles in the rocking chairs and occasionally Bella Rose in the laundry room, sucking on Daniel’s dirty diapers. (NO,I’M JUST KIDDING. I didn’t find her doing that – Mama did.) Thankfully, she likes the baby – most times. But she thinks it’s fun to kick him every now and then, and she has no idea what GENTLE means. We’re working on it.



The fateful July of Stomach Virus. And these two parents of mine who love me in such tangible ways, coming 1,200 miles to help us paint.

Isn’t he dreamy? I like finding him like this after a hard day’s work, giving him a ridiculously long, romantic kiss, then whispering in his ear, “Darling, I just spent $100 at Tjmaxx on shoes…” sep-2016-8456And she likes finding him and coaxing his aching head while telling him, “Daddy, don’t believe a word she says if Mama tells you I bit her on the arm today…not a word.”sep-2016-8645sep-2016-9243“Babe………. you Promised this shirt didn’t make me look fat.” sep-2016-9249Exhibit from the mountain.sep-2016-9257Ohhh…the muscles in that arrrrmm!!!!oct16-7711“If I stare out the window all dreamily, maybe she’ll forget I’m on the verge of sleep with my mouth full of nuts I can’t chew.” oct16-772240 Years of two sinners loving each other, forgiving each other, and helping us know that sticking it out through thick  and thin is worth it. oct16-7939Just some random beautiful women who were walking the driveway of the Grey Submarine on a Sunday morning. oct16-8289When I was 30 Something weeks and had a REAL maternity shoot, thanks to my talented Sis. Not all of pregnancy is glamorous, but walking through a hot October day with a tired toddler definitely is.oct16-8261oct16-8222I’m indebted to Milly for making it look like being on the front side of the camera doesn’t make the spit stick to the back of my throat.oct16-8311“I solemnly promise never to drink all your frappe and paralyze myself with caffeine ever again.” oct16-8379One, two, three, flare. I flare – now – no. Mama, we’re suppose to flare nostrils at the same time. oct16-8321Hottest Aunt Status…but no, it really was so hot. My goal is to be like this gal when I grow up…I think I’m running out of time..but… Props to my inspiration gal. xoxooct16-8390My sunny sistren.

dec16-2784The CHAINSAW. I love that thing. And the men. I definitely love the men. Especially the REALLY handsome one holding the saw.

dec16-1812-2dec16-2024Happy 2017!

June Update…written in July


June flew by, packing a punch full of beautiful places and people.

To begin with, Bella Rose and I went to Harmony Hill Singing School. It was the first time with a baby. First time since I’d been married, in fact. Oh how hot it was, but oh how deeply sweet it was to see and meet many dear folks. I came away revived and refreshed, bursting with happiness of just Plain Ole Life. It’s made up of so many people – life is – and mine is enriched by so many of them. This year especially, I was impressed at how many people work tirelessly in the background to make this happen. No lime light – and no desire for any. What comes through is their desire to carry on a dream worth working for, so that their kids and grandchildren and kids they don’t know can benefit from it.

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After a week of not seeing my man, JB met us at HH for the last evening and day there. Friday we began the drive to Memphis, caught up on the week’s worth of news until my voice ached, stayed in a hotel and made it to Memphis the next day. It was Arabella Rose’s First Birthday, and we celebrated it amidst my washing clothes, Aunt Judy working on prepping food and cleaning for Camp and John Barrett catching up on work. It was a fine little birthday and celebrating it with family was a gift to me, even if she didn’t know to be properly grateful. 6-16 -30706-16 -30886-16 -31066-16 -31456-16 -32336-16 -3255

Dawn and Bella Rose are practically birthday buddies. Bella Rose impolitely came the day before Dawn’s birthday, for which someday, maybe, Dawn will forgive her. As it was, we were able to spend both birthdays with both girls in Memphis. Sometimes Providence aligns the stars.

The week after Harmony Hill was camp. Dear Camp in the heart of Mississippi where the Black Eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s Lace grow up a storm; where hay fields and twilight bask in the song of saccades and fireflies, and where the accents and people are even sweeter than the tea. I love that place and the people, and the dirt and the grime that come with camping. Some people say with a sort of perverted slyness that the South is One Big Excuse for gossip. That the South can say anything they like about anyone and blanket it with “Bless Their Hearts”. The people who say this don’t know the South.  When it’s said in the South it’s with the actual hope that your situation will be made better. It’s with empathy or sympathy implied, and with that sort of motherly and fatherly affection that says, “Goodness, child, I’m dreadfully sorry, and I care about you”. While there are times among Southerners when interest is dirtied by only the desire to gossip behind other’s backs, there’s also a broader depth of care and concern there that is distinct to it. There’s a willingness to step beyond some unsaid threshold and address hurt and pain, difficulty and shame in a way that is there to relate and help heal. There’s a openness and humility of being real, and admitting faults and exposing wounds.  I’ve yet to encounter that anywhere else. I love that about the South. I loved dipping my feet in its balm again, and immersing myself in the sincerity with which people exude there. And when they said Bless Your Heart, I knew that it was in the way Southerners mean it.


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The traditional birthday walk we take at Camp, where we drag out of bed and walk out our puffy eyes and breathe in the early air, and offer our small gifts to Dawn on the side of the road somewhere. 6-16 -33816-16 -33856-16 -3394-2

Seventeen. And I don’t mind saying she makes me cry. I love seeing her blossom into a lady. Blossom and expand her mind and her heart. I love this kid so much. 6-16 -34106-16 -34356-16 -3448At the Grey Sub it’s birthday tradition for each person to tell a memory or something you love or admire about the Birthday -ee. Anna Grace plucked a flower head and pronounced it our microphone. We were laughing to understand each other at first and had to repeat our sentiments several times before it could be understood.

6-16 -34766-16 -35016-16 -35366-16 -35826-16 -3878I’m so glad distance doesn’t separate love. Bella Rose knows Mamsie even when her back is turned and she’s standing several feet away. She goes to her before me. Even before she could walk, she’d crawl through the rooms until she found Mamsie and would whine and hold up her hands for her. This fills my heart more than I can say. You can’t speak the connection. Sometimes it’s just there. 6-16 -3404

This was June. A blur of the sweetest and prettiest things. I cried all the way to Memphis when I left that Friday night. Sometimes life expands your heart so much that love aches. The South and its people are woven so deeply into the fabric of who I am. Its fragrances, its whippoorwills and pines and soft hills and accents, mockingbirds at twilight and effortless lushness. All of this tore at me, knowing it’s not what I can love as my home anymore. Knowing that in order to love what home is now, there must be a distance between my heart and what is naturally most dear to me.

And yet, it’s worth it. My best friend makes any place home for me. The fabric that wove me will always draw me. Will always be deeply endearing; yet, that tall man makes my life the sweetest tale I could’ve wished to tell.



May / Update

5.16 stomp_0127


May has always held a certain glow of magic, and even though I can go barefoot any time  I want to, there’s a certain anticipation for May First, when I can officially go barefoot and feel the long held peace of Mama’s permission. I wonder about the traditions we’ll cultivate in the Watson household? What will our children look back on as some of their foundational habits and customs?

Earlier this month Daddy and Mama drove from Tyler (where we all celebrated a cousin’s graduation). On the 7 hour trip from Tyler to Lubbock, Bella Rose got sick and threw up 6 times. She was pale and exhausted, and I didn’t really care that I had vomit on my clothes and body. My heart just ached for her tiny frame that would suddenly still then bend with the force of vomit. I’m so glad hers didn’t last long.

Mama and Daddy stayed two days, both of which I was sick. We had no food in the house, so they bought us groceries, fixed meals, then had to leave early to make it back to GA for an emergency. There’s a deep down bumminess that might as well not be described. You know it, when you run up against it. It was hard to swallow that the visit I’d looked forward to us having with them was shortened from a week to two days, and that I was sick the whole time. But though I don’t understand all the in’s and out’s it was still hugely comforting to hear them in my house and have Mama take care of me.

Poor Daddy got sick on the way home. 12 hrs between driving and flying. Poor Daddy.

But the bright side -for there almost always is one – is that my littlest Sister who’d come with Mama and Daddy stayed two weeks. And two other sisters joined us for several days. So lots of walks, lounging conversations and quiet routines settled over our time together. For my birthday, I woke up to the girls cleaning my house, a dozen doughnut coupon, a potted plant and candy. It was the sort of day you feel extraordinarily loved and happy.

As for Bella Rose, she finally cut a tooth Saturday. She’s dancing to music – just rocking back and forth or bending her knees. She gives the biggest grins and hugs. This motherhood thing is the best. I looked up last night. She was looking at me with a drop of milk glistening like a perfect pearl from the middle of her chin and flashed a gummy smile. I felt again that surge of happiness I never would have imagined on the other side of marriage and being a mama.

The house we’re buying – it will be ours on June 6 – is a cozy little place, and for now all we must do is wait and pack.  Soon we can call it home. 5.16 stomp_0118

5.16 stomp_0119studying for a final the only way that makes sense in West Texas heat: with your feet in water.
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This sums up my May so far, with all its smudges. And for all that it’s been bright and beautiful.

The Love Story 6.

Jane Austen observed well that,

“A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

I could plead none otherwise than guilty to this charge, and it was well reflected in my writing at the time. You see, he did in fact, not tell me his thoughts, and for an impatient girl, this waiting and wondering seemed to stretch for miles. I suppose it did. 1200 in fact. So I rallied and argued with myself, telling myself that “JBW is not the only fish in the sea”. That he’s not expressed any intention or wish other than ‘keeping up’ and ‘getting to know me’. I reasoned in fits on pages of my journal that “We’re not engaged…we’re not even in a relationship, really… Besides that, a person is not truly committed until they’ve said the oaths, taken the vows.” And I reminded myself of what I’d resolved many months earlier, before he was on the scene:

“I’m waiting for a man who’ll dig some spurs into the side of his Relationship Steed. Someone that knows what he wants and will go get it without being a wimpy whiner who worries over everything, can’t make up his mind and mosies along the lazy path of Indecision. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t seek/listen to/ heed good counsel, but that he’s willing to take it and run with it. 

Well, maybe that’s JB and maybe it’s not. I’m happy to be his friend. Maybe one day more than that. But until that wedding band is on my finger there’s nothing that says Things Won’t Change and that some other guys or gal could step into the lives and affections of either one. I like John. Could like him a lot. I’ve said it before; I say it again. I’ve got a wild heart and a passionate one and the man who wins it over completely will be one I’d like to meet. 

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Daddy just put a log of cedar on the fire. One of the logs we cut this morning. Daddy, Chris, Max, Merry and I went to Clyde and Sherri’s today. Poor Abrum, he wanted to go. Mama brought balloons and lovely decorations. We’re all waiting now for Max and Merry to come back. Max is off (we think) to propose to Merry at Charlie Elliot. Daddy grilled steaks and Mama’s baking cheese cakes. Daddy will miss her terribly I think. How strange. Little Merria, off to get married out of all us girls. We’re hoping he actually WILL propose, because if not, all our signs and decorations and the special meal will be hard out of place. 

John sent two letters this week. I must admit that when I found his letter today there was a huge smile all over my face. I said to that letter, 

“Well, John, you do get some bonus points, my good man. Some points indeed!” He’s sent two post cards last week and this, but today was the first real letter.

January 28, 2014

He wrote: 

P.S. There was no one else in sight as he walked up to the wall of mailboxes ( the one about a hundred paces from his flat, over by the laundry room), on a partially cloudy Saturday afternoon. He opened his box and pulled out an envelope. “Wow, that’s amazing,” he said aloud as his eyes fell across the exquisite penmanship on the front, with a quick glance at the postmark to confirm his suspicion. It was from her.” 

Now if that won’t flutter the stomach and make it nearly fly away, I don’t know what will.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Yesterday morning Daddy prayed for our breakfast – his and mine. He said, “And Lord, you know whether it’s your will for Gabrielle and John Watson to continue talking and I ask that if it IS your will for them to be together that you’d help John to kick this thing into high gear…”

I don’t know where that came from. Daddy IS a pro-active sort of fellow, and maybe he was just in a high – gear praying sort of mood, but I had to smile and agree with him. 

Friday, February 7, 2014

Mel came up the driveway with letters in her hand. She sat on the porch and my heart dropped because I knew there wasn’t one for me, for she neither looked up nor handed me anything. But oh – I felt a little pool of hope well up again, though I tried to keep it from coming up at all (dashed hopes are so much more unpleasant than hopes caught unawares). I saw that Milly had only retrieved the checks from Clyde and Sherri – the mail was still to come, and my chance of a letter was still there. It did come and my eyes couldn’t see fast enough to detect all the names until finally the one I was hoping for was found. There it lay, innocently provoking smile after smile and happy little exclamations of “Oh, John – JB, you Watson, you dear fellow. Look at this! My, my, so you did write after all, eh?” And all the while I was beaming. Could hardly see out of my eyes, they were smiling so hard. 

And what did it say? He wants to come.