Hearing Heart Blog

It's been knocked around a few too many years, I suppose. The box fan that sits on my bedroom windowsill looses a piece of its plastic every time I bump it with the sliding window. It's easy to stick my fingers into its mouth to retrieve the pieces and toss them. But the bottom line is - it keeps doing its job! Why throw some old things away? It's in my bedroom on a high windowsill, so my grandkids won't be sticking their fingers into it and injuring themselves. We have a lot of windows and a lot of fans to help us stay cool in the summer, so I could make do without it; but why should I? Sure, it's dusty and grimy, and broken in many places, but for now I find that charming. It smiles its jagged smile at me when I'm laying in bed enjoying its breezes. It reminds me that my surroundings don't necessarily need to have the appearance of perfection in order to be appreciated (and perfect). This week I am wearing two wrist braces to promote healing in my wrists a

My mirror image tells me I'm mad about something, or tired, or ornery. Can you believe that I was just whistling a little tune and thinking about some happy times? My face betrays me! It has happened to every woman before me, and yet it surprises me. The muscles in my face just aren't holding it up the same way they always did. Though it's nice they are relaxing (I guess), it makes me look mean! People look at me differently now when I drive down the highway. I thought it was just because I'm not as interesting to look at with gray in my hair. That's mostly true, but when I glance in my rear view mirror and see a crotchety face glaring back, I know I wouldn't want to spend too much time looking at that expression either! I will be more careful to not judge an older person's outward expression too harshly. The Simple Woman FOR TODAY May 14, 2009 Outside My Window...my dog stares back from the pasture - not believing I would DARE to put her out there alone tod

The shiny brown pews in the church were solid wood, and too temptingly slippery for any wiggly little boy to stay still on. Little girls didn't wiggle as much, 'cause if they did the skin on their bare legs would screech like fingernails on a chalkboard! My young mother patiently taught us to sit still and listen to the sermon. Sitting quietly was a tall order for sure, but she was patient and wise. Once in awhile she brought something in her purse to help; like a jar of bugs for my brother to gawk at, or a pad of paper for me to doodle on. I was keenly aware of my father's gaze from the choir, so I worked hard to impress him with my quiet reverence. I remember my mother's hands folded in her lap, and how the veins on them would stand out as she rested them there. To entertain myself I would trace the veins and push on them under her skin. This would irritate her, and she'd draw them back. As she grew older I watched her hands change. And when her mother, my dear gr