Don't write on her face. by Patresa Hartman

I love my family. I know that I hit some kind of jackpot when I was born, and I am grateful. I have two older sisters, and together with my parents, they are a clever crew with sensible priorities and level heads. There is no drama when we get together...which is not to say there is never conflict. But even when we butt heads, we do it directly and compassionately -- not tiptoeing around one another, not slinging character attacks. And we always always laugh about it later.

My family has taught me humility (repeatedly) and to regard myself lightly. We see humor in small things, and poking fun at one another is a sign of affection -- a celebration of quirks and imperfections:

--> Our mother is stubbornly naive and/or gullible about many things (forcing us at times to explain our jokes), sings harmony with rock songs, and snaps and claps in rhythm with music that isn't playing anywhere but in her head.

--> Our father has at least two of everything, compulsively buys us books we'll never read (at least 3 covering the same topic that none of us have expressed any interest in -- like marketing trends), and gives ordinary items strange names (Mustard becomes "banana juice;" a small water bottle becomes a "bucket.").

--> My oldest sister, Paula, never ever stops talking (Never. I cannot emphasize this enough.), makes odd and alarming noises when she gasps or sneezes, and has absolutely no immediate, regional, national, or international awareness of geographical properties.

--> Our middle sister, Pam, is stoic and reserved, is the world's most standoffish hugger, and spends ridiculous amounts of time researching everything she can think to research (juicers, online radio stations, fish oil vs. cod liver oil, the healing properties of cayenne pepper...).

--> The youngest, I require copious amounts of alone time, am egregiously grumpy at times for no apparent reason (which are my sisters' favorite times to deliberately do things that annoy me), and hate the telephone to an almost pathological extent.

We like this about us, although the endearment of it may not be readily noted by outsiders. We are the funniest people we know without even meaning to be. This brings me to my favorite moment across the entire span of Christmas celebrations this year: the moment I witnessed Paula giving a wordy lecture to her 7-year-old, Katherine, about taking care of her new American Girl doll.

Paula concluded her long, stern lecture with this very serious command:

"Don't write on her face."

Family Gratitude by Angie Ledbetter

There's nothing quite like a close family, whether they are the group of people you are born into, or those you've become welded to by choice through the years. When I think of the gratitude I have for these people, they include a number of good friends as well as those related by blood or marriage.


Today I give thanks to those who shore me up in one way or another. Without them, life would be just existing, not living.


I am thankful for the father figures. The men at the helm of the ships who confidently navigate us through storms and rough sees. Men who volunteer their time, talent and "treasure" (financial gifts) to teach us how to be better at whatever it is we do. Men who are equitable sharers and givers by every definition.


I am thankful for all the mothers who work for years and sometimes decades doing odious chores, who swab the decks and fix delicious, nutritious meals down in the galley, even when no one notices or remembers to say thank you. Mothers who desire nothing more than to see their own little ships get a healthy launch in life. Moms who forgo solitary pleasure cruises for the sake of those they care deeply about.


I am thankful for the cousins, friends and siblings who keep me afloat when I could just as easily crash onto the shore or capsizing far out at sea. They are the barges who never cease to tow me to safety. Together, they form a joyous flotilla in my life.


I am thankful for the long line of ancestors in my family shipping line for showing us the way. And for the little ones, who just by their antics, achievement of milestones and precious sayings add buoyancy to everyday living. They are the hope of the future, the ones who may sail the furthest.

The Great Girl Getaway by Angie Ledbetter

My sisters and I took our mom on a little journey a few days ago. I'm sure we were all hoping for various outcomes from our trip to a Mississippi Coast casino, but I got exactly what I wanted. Was it a big, fat, Greek jackpot win? A day of R&R off life's hamster wheel? Grazing at the casino's legendary buffet?

None of that crossed my mind, although any of it would've been a nice bonus. No, what I hoped and prayed for was a good time for our mother. She's always dearly loved spending time in front of a video poker machine, and hasn't gotten to do that very much in the last year since becoming ill. But, durn it, we made that trip and she had a blast in the jingling, jangling, flashing casino!


I'm filled with gratitude and honor for the opportunity to make our girl's escape. It was fun and it made memories that will stay with me forever...especially this look on Mom's face:


{Photo by Angie Ledbetter}

Sometimes Gratitude is Hidden, But it is Always There, by Kat Magendie

Kayla limps down our road, becomes tired easily and lies upon the grass. I stroke her thick fur and talk softly to her. I tell her what a good dog she’s always been, my best girl. I say, “Don’t get any older, girl. Don’t leave me.” And I know it’s a selfish thought, but I am feeling ornery. Intellectually, I know everyone must eventually leave; and eventually, every one of us will leave someone who doesn’t want us to leave. But my heart this morning is saying, “Stop Time. Just for a little while.” I say to Kayla, “It’s tough getting old, isn’t it, girl?” Her muzzle is turning gray. Her bones stiff. As I pet my dog and look at her signs of aging, I think about how one day I will lose her, and that makes me think of losses and disappointments. How I am aging, how my husband is aging, how my parents are aging, my brothers—all of us who have this history together. There are no guarantees, however, since I lost my younger brother when he was a young man, and I chalk that up as another bad thing life can hurl our way. I let my thoughts turn darker, inward—the novels still un-published and how much I want them out there, read, enjoyed by others. I try not to feel envy for the authors who are already published, but it comes anyway and shames me with its intensity, for I am also happy for them, glad they have met their dreams and goals; yet, I think, why not me?

I tell Kayla, “I have to write a YOG post and here I am feeling negative and dark and sad and with dreams I haven’t fulfilled and I’m getting older, too, and I don’t want you to be old and I don’t want anyone I love to leave and…damn.” She pants, and looks up at me with her soft brown eyes and I have the sudden urge to cry, my eyes burning, my throat closing. I remember her as a puppy. I remember my brothers and me as children, my parents young even though we thought them old. I want more days; lots more days. Doesn’t everyone? a voice counters. Quiet, I say. Let me have this melancholy. It’s mine.

The mountain breeze touches my face. So much to be grateful for, yes, I know. But for the moment, the gratitude hides behind the disappointments and fears. Sometimes, melancholy has its purpose. Sometimes it makes me appreciate even more when the fog lifts. Sometimes gratitude is hidden, but it is always there.

Birthday Girl by Angie Ledbetter

Today is my baby's birthday. I can't believe she's 19, which makes me about 127, and I'm grateful for all that she is -- delightful, smart, moral, vivacious and just generally awesome. She always makes me laugh with her quick wit and quirky observations, which make me wonder if she'll be a writer one day. Like me, she observes the little details and hears several conversations going on around her simultaneously. I couldn't be more proud of/for her and her accomplishments and drive, but the best thing about my baby is her kindness and compassion for others.

A photo-holic (also like me), her gift from Dad and I is a storage unit for all the pictures she's saved to her hard drive Photo Bucket so it won't melt down from digital photo overload. And I will spend time today letting her know how precious she is to me. We will celebrate the joy she adds to others' lives.

I appreciate many aspects of life and the people who add so much to my existence, but none more than the gift of my children and their unique personalities. So, Happy Birthday, "Little Donkey." I hope someone forwards this to you since you accidentally blocked my email account long ago. *laugh* You were definitely worth the 26 hours of labor!

The 5th of July by Angie Ledbetter

The smell of sulfur and the litter of fireworks all over the yard mingle with the morning sun coming up over the lake. All the kids and their friends are still asleep from all the frantic lighting, throwing, shooting from bottles of firecrackers, water dynamite, and fireworks of every description. They'll have a lot to clean up after they wake up and have breakfast, but I suppose the yard chores are worth the excitement and expense of watching those colored rainbows explode in the sky and reflected again in the water.

Seeing the trash and smelling the leftover aroma of harmless colorful explosives naturally brings to mind the deadly explosions of warfare and heavy artillery. It's the day after the US celebrates its independence, but there are many who did not get to party, BBQ, spend time with friends and loved ones, or even have a decent meal -- our soldiers and support personnel. It has always been so when sacrifices are called for, and I imagine it will always be so.

Yesterday and today I remember these people who fight and have fought for our freedoms, for they are the ones who have allowed my family to spend frivolous, enjoyable time together away from home and work. Words are inadequate forms of gratitude for them, but they will be remembered in prayer by many. I am ever-grateful to veterans, current military people and their families.

Thank you for your decision to stand between us and threat. Thank you for your ability to protect the innocent and oppressed. Thank you for making it possible for me to look over the landscape and see the deeper meaning of the celebration and for the knowledge that after every celebration, there is still work to do. May the glory of this early morning sunrise be somehow transmitted to you and the ones you love.

Healthy Kids by Angie Ledbetter

I'm thankful every day my three children are healthy and strong. They are independent for the most part, and old enough not to get those naggy childhood illnesses. Unless there's a sports injury, an unexpected appendicitis attack or a set of wisdom teeth that need extracting, the majority of what they deal with can be cured with vitamins, an occasional antihistamine or OTC allergy medication. Having loved ones who must endure bodily crises or chronic troubles brings the blessing of take-it-for-granted good health home to me more and more.

My kids are 16, 17 and 18 and are all in good physical and mental shape. Besides sometimes balking at doing the dishes or mowing the grass, the two oldest are gainfully employed at jobs that suit them and that they enjoy. The youngest just turned 16 yesterday and is looking for a job right now. I'm sure he'll find something to suit his tastes and activity schedule soon. I'm grateful they want (or know they must have) a job and all three have decent work ethics. They understand Mom and Dad work hard to keep the family finances balanced, and that it takes a lot just to operate and maintain five vehicles for the household.

Besides the physical concerns all moms have about their children, there's also the mental, emotional and spiritual ones. Things aren't perfect by any means, but for the most part, we make it over these other speed bumps and detours pretty well. It makes me feel good that my "babies" have good hearts and love helping others, don't mind giving time to someone else or the community, have decent self-esteem, are S-M-A-R-T, and after the normal teen resistance stage, begin to care about their faith lives.

There's not much worse than feeling helpless to make your child feel better either physically or emotionally, so when things are going great, it's something to celebrate with a moment of vast gratitude. Today, I'm that thankful Mom.

Blessings from the Pit by Angie Ledbetter

I've come to love our BBQ pit. Like several ovens in one, it can cook different meals simultaneously. And since we moved up a few years ago from the old charcoal model to propane, cooking outdoors is even easier and more efficient. I like the convenience of having different foods than my sometimes-boring repertoire, and my husband doesn't mind cooking...as long as fire, hot coals, dutch ovens, seafood boiling/frying rigs or danger of some sort is involved. He's gotten better and better with his grill mastery and actually enjoys it. His outdoor cooking also gives his family gift ideas for birthday and other holidays.

On days when the family's running in five separate directions, leftovers from the grill are a boon. Who doesn't love reheated burgers, fresh vegetables or chicken the next day? Our pit really comes in handy when we lose electricity during storms. When it's too hot or dark to stay indoors, we can sit under the patio and cook what's slowly defrosting in the freezer. During hurricanes Katrina and Rita, we had the camp coffee pot perking on the pit. Talk about an emergency essential!

The BBQ is wonderful for those in the household on different eating plans too...big honking slabs of beef for the Atkins dieter, lightly seasoned grilled shrimp and veggie kabobs for the low cal dieters, and a variety of "regular" foods for the others.

I'm thankful for our trusty BBQ, and that there's someone else to man it besides me. I'm grateful for the bounty of good meals it quickly provides, and for the time it saves me being cooped up in the kitchen. And the best part? There's no clean-up involved if things drip or spill over. All that gunk just eventually burns off, sorta like a self-cleaning oven without the harsh chemicals.

Good Tired by Angie Ledbetter

Sometimes our plans and gotta-do stuff clumps together in a wad of busy days and we run as fast as we can to keep up and check off the things filling our lists. I've had a week of that -- a 6-day writers conference and my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party the day after I returned.

The conference required a lot of mental work and writing, with lots of walking around the huge hotel all day, and a 3-hour ghost walking tour around New Orleans. Okay, I'm 48, heavy and not in marathon shape, so it was more exercise (physical & mental) than I'm used to, but I'm not complaining. Actually, I enjoyed it and took the stairs sometimes when an elevator was just as close. The point is, my body spent almost a week in unfamiliar circumstances and in a strange bed. But out of that conference, I got some golden nuggets in the form of an improved manuscript and some successful agent pitches. I was exhausted, but so glad I went.

Yesterday my parents celebrated five decades of a wonderful marriage full of love, laughter, grandchildren, and great-grands. The guest list had to be limited because of the venue, but their friends could've filled the New Orleans Superdome. And what a tribute and statement to their goodness that is. It was fun helping put together the party, and again, I felt that "good tired" you experience after an unfamiliar event or circumstance involving some effort pays you back with dividends you weren't expecting.

I slept like the proverbial log the last two nights and the jetlag I felt (even though I was nowhere near an airport) has lifted. I'm ready for whatever comes my way and looking for more "good tired" nights. I am grateful for last week and that my body, mind and spirit kept up with the demands needing to be met. And, again, I'm grateful for my good soft bed.

Salute by Angie Ledbetter

It's Memorial Day in America. I send out thanks to our soldiers serving in different places, keeping peace in hostile lands, living amidst danger and threat of harm, building hospitals, roads, and training foreign troops. As I drink my first cup of coffee today, I think of you all who do not have coffee, who are away from loved ones on your tour, and I appreciate your sacrifice.
To the veterans - many who have been forgotten or languish in V.A. hospitals or nursing homes, I hope you are honored today in some way. I hope you have visitors and parades and parties.

My gratitude goes to the families who are separated from the military men and women they love and long to see while they are on maneuvers, tours of duty or training. I feel for those who must pack and move to a new post...again. *Waving to my stepdaughter and her family as they contemplate packing everything to move cross country once more.*

Today I remember and appreciate the armed service folks. They give a lot, sometimes they give all. As I have the freedom to pack and travel to a writer's conference shortly, I know in my heart it is you who have secured my pursuits and made this land safe. Thank you. I am grateful every day.

Do You Remember? By Angie Ledbetter

I've been thinking a lot about memories and the ability to remember. Attending several important functions for my kids (an honors fraternity induction, a spring band concert, a confirmation ceremony at church, etc.), the digital and regular cameras have been in use frequently. I LOVE photographs. They are a means of hanging onto and capturing special moments. I have a new screen saver on my monitor -- my middle son (in tux!) wearing the Bishop's purple beanie at his confirmation. No matter what happens, I have that little encapsulated moment to relive again and again. I am truly grateful for that.

Our last high school reunion was such a success, we've decided to meet every summer in addition to the 10-year gatherings. Again, tons of photos accompany these events, plus we enjoy strolling down the memory lane of our Glory Years when we're together.

Being of a certain age -- that age where "Sometimers" makes memories and remembrances fuzzy -- I'm making a conscious effort to engrave important moments and times on my mind. When my life slows down, I'll want them available even more when, hopefully, I'll revisit the fun, exciting, sobering, spontaneous, hilarious strange times of Today.

Treasure your important moments NOW, but also lock them away for safekeeping for tomorrow. We're not guaranteed anything in life past this one single moment. I see this with my precious mother who is fighting brain cancer. Her short-term memory continually erases itself like a computer program gone mad. I'm thankful she retains older memories and knows who we are. I cannot imagine the loss of those, as so much of our basic personality and essence is tied up in our brains' memory banks.

Today, live fully, live wildly, live joyously. Take photographs with your mind and camera of these times and things and people you love. Someday, your remembering may be more important than ever.

Getaways by Angie Ledbetter

"Time for work - yet take much holiday for art's and friendship's sake." ~ George de Wilde

I'm thankful for this past weekend, as I got a chance to run away with women friends to a sleepy little bayou town for two days of communing with each other, nature, poets and other writers at an annual seminar.

There's always something interesting to learn, but more importantly, I get to experience the feel of a feather-soft bed and pillow, fresh coffee brewed in my hotel room, the relaxation of a couple hours' drive, the sharing of meals and thoughts with others whose company I greatly enjoy. I'm grateful for these opportunities and thankful they come my way a time or two every year. Even though I worry about what's going on at home -- this weekend was one of my son's Jr./Sr. prom and I missed the excitement of watching him don his first tux; sharing in my daughter's happiness in her new college life; the proudness I experience watching one son play school baseball and his brother compete in an State algebra tournament -- and in general, being available for all the mom things that happen every day of my "regular" routine, it was nice to be doing something different.

Without the very healthful and necessary-to-the-soul down times away to recharge my own personal batteries, I'm sure I wouldn't appreciate the never-ending stuff that goes on with my family nearly as much. As a bonus, upon my return, we gathered as a family to celebrate my dad's 71st birthday. What a way to end my mini-vacation!

All in all, a great weekend...one which I hope to repeat soon.

A Grand Thing by Barbara Quinn

I’m going to be a grandma. My son, Bret, and daughter-in-law, Tricia, are expecting their first child at the end of October. Oh, this is terrific news. It was only last July that we were all dancing at their wedding. Now I cannot wait to meet little Brisha which is what I’ve been calling the babe, the perfect blend of Bret and Tricia – Brisha!

Bret is my only child and I’ve been so lucky to have him. He’s always been a family type of guy. Even when he was a kid he’d talk about what he would do with his own kids. That always made me happy and now here he is about to be a Dad, and me about to become Grandma Quinn, and my mom about to become Great-Grandma Ferrara. We spent some time over the last few days letting all the Great Uncles and Great Aunts and their children know about the upcoming big event. This is the kind of news that it’s good to share.

I’ve seen the ultrasound pictures of the little blob that is to be my grandchild. They reminded me of my own ultrasounds taken when I was pregnant with Bret. Those first baby pictures are amazing. And now, the pictures can be much clearer.

Suddenly I’m noticing baby things again. All the little clothes, gadgets, and toys are vying for my attention.

The earth turns, the seasons pass, and sometimes good and lovely things do happen. Today I am grateful for life itself.

Easter Blessings by Angie Ledbetter

What a beautiful day it is. It doesn't matter if it's snowing, raining, or so windy you wouldn't want to go outside. Good weather is just a bonus for an already wonderful day. As it happens, it's lovely in the South with the azaleas showing their pride for over a week now. Usually after just a few days, their purple, pink and snowy white heads have been knocked off by a rainstorm or that last freeze, but not this year. You can hardly find a street without the great blobs of bright color decorating at least a few yards.

What makes this day exceptionally lovely is almost everyone is off work and home for the Easter holidays. Two of my kids are traveling the country, enjoying time away from school and the 3-day moratorium on school and sport activities. And I'm not grading papers or preparing lesson plans since I have the whole week off.

I've visited with my parents, then enjoyed the delicious Louisiana Cajun tradition of boiled crawfish on Good Friday with other family members. But those are just minor benefits of being released from normally scheduled things I "gotta do."

The best thing about today is remembering the reason why I'm celebrating it. For Christians, Easter is the biggest event of the year. Christmas tends to want to overshadow it with all its commercialism, tinsel-covered trees, shopping, partying, and such, but it never really can. Today we remember the suffering Christ accepted for each of us. I'm grateful for one more attempt at struggling to walk in His footsteps, to give thanks for His ultimate sacrifice, and to rejoice again that He has risen.

Happy Easter Sunday, and may each of you be given baskets full of grace and all good things.

The Comfort Zone by Barbara Quinn

Spring is sprung. That means Easter is almost here. On Easter Sunday my son and daughter-in-law, nephew and his wife, niece, brother and sister-in-law, Mom (who is 87 and is treating us all to dinner), husband, and I will meet at a restaurant for dinner and catch up on each other’s lives. Then we’ll drive to my house for coffee and dessert. I’ve ordered a special grana, the wheat pie that is made for Easter, and lots of miniature cannoli, sfogliatelle, and éclairs, and even a couple of St. Joseph’s pastries because Easter is early enough that they are still around. We’ll break out the port and sambuca, heat the espresso, coffee, and tea, and spend more time discussing everything from politics to celebrities. It doesn’t get better than that.

I’m grateful to have people to gather with for the holidays. The celebration with family gives life a comforting rhythm. For a while we forget all the daily hassles and problems and enjoy each other’s company. These times together shore up my defenses. It’s good to know there are people I can count on to be there in times of sorrow and joy. This comfort of family has no price, cannot be bought, and is a worthy life goal.

The person who will be missed when we gather is my Dad. While he was alive he worked hard and took care of us. He invested wisely and left my Mom with enough funds that she is treating us all to dinner, “courtesy of dear old Dad.” I like to think he’s smiling and happy that he is still taking care of us now.

My heart goes out to all the families who would like to but cannot spend time together. Soldiers and their far apart families, people too ill to celebrate, the dying and the departed, those who have to work on that day to support their families, those who are too poor to make a special meal. Even though you are apart or in dire straits, family can still give you comfort. And that is what I wish for you. Comfort and peace, and a welcoming family when you finally do gather once again.

What They Gave Me by Nannette Croce

Like so many I am all too ready to blame my parents for what I did or didn’t do in life. Growing up with an extended Italian family I can spread the blame around to aunts and uncles as well. But in recent years, as most of them have passed away or aged, I’m softening my view and seeing what I gained from each of those people who played such major role in my formative years.

My Mom gave me my quick wit, heightened sense of justice, and fashion sense.

My Dad, the Engineer, gave me my organizational skills, my logical approach to problem solving, and my slightly more tempered ambition.

My Aunt Jeannette, the intellectual of the family, gave me a love of history and also entrusted to me all the important family papers and journals, even though I was not the oldest, but knowing I would most appreciate them. Uncle Fred, the only non-Italian, taught me how the rest of the world lives and that with an open mind and a big heart, you will never be an outsider.

Aunt Thelma, with no children of her own, told wonderful stories and taught me not to forget my inner child, even when I had one of my own. While her artistic ability skipped my generation, she passed it to two grandnieces. Uncle Bill, the “gregarious one” taught me how to enjoy good wine and the society of friends and family, and, eventually, how to accept death with grace and dignity.

Yes, there were drawbacks growing up with so many people poking noses into my business, but as the years pass on, I realize it’s the benefits that maintained the strongest hold.

Shore Things

January in the northeast may seem like an odd time of year to be writing about the beach, but for me, being near the ocean any time of year is joyful. I’ve always wanted to live near the water and a few years ago, I was fortunate to accomplish that dream. My shore condo is in Bradley Beach, a small town on the Jersey shore where I am situated a block from the water.

My love affair with the ocean began when I was first born. There’s a black and white photo of me as an infant in my mother’s arms. She’s smiling, wearing a black one-piece suit, sitting on the sand holding me. There’s another photo of me in a saggy diaper toddling toward the ocean where my father waits in swim trunks. My parents often told me that they took me to the beach within days of my birth. They headed to the Island from the City, the island being Long Island and the city being the Bronx. We had a small cottage not far from the Great South Bay. My grandparents had a permanent home on a canal that led to the bay and I grew up walking to their house where we held lots of outdoor family gatherings. We fished from the dock, and hauled in crab and eel traps that dangled on ropes from the pilings. We went together on clamming, eeling, and crabbing expeditions. We fished for blowfish, and bluefish, fluke and flounder. Afterward, my large Italian family gathered, cleaned the fish, and shucked clams together. We cooked, talked, yelled, and ate till we were stuffed and the daylight faded away. These days those relatives are gone. I still make a lot of the recipes I learned at their elbows: barbecued stuffed clams, linguini with clam sauce or crab sauce, baked flounder. I’m thankful for more than the recipes they taught me.

Today I walked along the boardwalk, bundled up in my winter coat, bathed in the pure shore light, and I smiled. The waves crashed gently, their ceaseless sound a familiar comfort and a reminder of my family ties for which I am grateful.