It was a cold night as New York prepared itself for the oncoming Nor’easter. My Seattle jacket was barely sufficient and I thank the excitement for warming me the rest of the way. Even the French were better prepared.
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I think of my Granny and Papa a lot. I whisper hello when I walk down the hall to my front door and sometimes smell the smell of their house: equal parts gasoline, mustiness and bacon grease. Oh, it’s magical. I see you on your unicorn followed by a trial of sparkles and serenaded by oohs and ahhs. You make it look so easy because, well, it is easy, isn’t it. Your special thing. I am ten and it is late October in Waterloo, Iowa and it is the last Halloween that I know I can officially go out and trick or treat. I am at that age—next year I will just be too old… In kindergarten, I always wondered who Richard Stands was because we always gave a little shout out to him in the Pledge of Allegiance. I’ve been away from the blog more than I would like because I am writing a novel. I have a spot reserved in my heart for the small voice that speaks at the exact moment the yammering crowd silences –when the noise parts and the small voice says the thing everyone is to afraid to say—and usually the last thing I want to admit. by Jill MacGregor The measure of who we are is what we do with what we have. ~Vince Lombardi
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