A monthly column published in The Northeast Georgian I wake up curious every day. But I’m often weary after late-night scrolling down rabbit holes chasing digital clues about… Read more “Village Reflections: It all started in Clarkesville”
Category: Small town stories
A picture is worth 1,000 words [or in this case, 567]
There’s a lot to see in this image. It’s been a minute since I’ve studied the nuances represented in the steel of my mother’s countenance. A bit… Read more “A picture is worth 1,000 words [or in this case, 567]”
Female bloodline runs thick
When my children asked her the secret to her success, she had a simple response.
“Work your ass off,” she said.
It’s as simple as that, I guess, as I consider the future of my trio of soon-to-be-launched adults.
A tale of Thanksgiving redemption
As I observed this spirited and thoughtful young woman on Thanksgiving, I made a wish for a shift in thinking. For a softening of my heart to allow for creative solutions to sharp issues.
That is a lesson worth slicing up to share.
Marking a life with meaning
What happens when you plan an expedition and the morning dawns with an unexpected but overdue rainfall? You go anyway, hoping for a break in the damp.… Read more “Marking a life with meaning”
Clarkesville native commissioned as second lieutenant
One family’s legacy of military service deepened with the recent commissioning of Anna Sapough of Dahlonega as a second lieutenant in the Georgia Army National Guard. She’s… Read more “Clarkesville native commissioned as second lieutenant”
Remembering a mother’s legacy
“…Grieve if you must, but not for long. You know I’m not much on tears. Know that I am with Mama and Lyn and any more who chose the right way and follow me.
Also, I can walk and I am truly whole – think of it!
Now get on with your business of living and know for certain, I am at peace and waiting.
Eternity is a long time.
Be always warm in knowing I love you, ’cause I know I was loved.”
A photographer’s tale
Above the crowd, the holy spirit revived hundreds of pungent, imperfect souls. Distracted by the assignment to collect more images, I wasn’t counting on communion. From the… Read more “A photographer’s tale”
Her smile arrived first with the pungent odor of the nursing home hallway wafting in her wake. Maxine. My mother’s daily angel cloaked in the blue scrubs… Read more “Sunrise angel”
Over time, an iridescent orb forms in the aftermath of the nurturing, transformed into a single bead on a special occasion string.