Ordinary Life

One day, you might drive past a busted bag of flour on a busy street downtown. You're just gonna have to press on knowing the backstory will never belong to you. It is almost enough to have seen it with your own eyes. Almost. Tell yourself you can build a new story upon its head...someday.  And get on with your life.

Some stuff he won't be needing anymore... things that remind us he was here... and that he was our very own.

The old fishing pier  at Clam Creek on Jekyll Island is one of the tacks in my personal map. You know, one of those places on the planet where a soul can just exhale. An album exists: www.flickr.com/gp126152547@NO2/782f61

...to be given flowers...

I know that poetry month is over but poetry can be habit forming. Today,  I'm watching Chandler at a Hurricane Jr. golf event in Knoxville. It's the first of his tournaments I've been able to follow him from start to finish. I didn't go looking for a random poem to share, rather I found myself thinking along these lines as I watched my boy  take to the tees and hold his own amongst competitors of all kinds. ..and some who are not kind at all.  He's playing well enough- might not take home the biggest trophy today- but he's right on par in his pursuit of  becoming a man, a real-life gentleman...and that's who this game belongs to, no? I'm his mom, I'm supposed to be proud I guess - but this reaches beyond pride into hopefulness and joy.  If he never plays golf well again another day of his life, but holds to integrity and fosters the growth of good character in every facet of his life for the rest of those same days, a green jacket will pale in the sp...