"I'm sorry," my husband says often.
Not because he's done anything wrong, or to offend or hurt me. But just because he can tell I am unsettled, discontent, disappointed at that moment in life in general.
He thinks he has failed because I am not happy all the time, that he needs to wrap me in all the comforts of this life.
Have you ever seen a snail in action . . . or, rather, inaction?
When I left the house one morning this week, there was a snail on my front sidewalk, its shell glistening in the post-shower sunlight. I wondered where in the world he'd found that shell out here in the fields and forests of western Pennsylvania. A few answers crossed my mind, but I was in a hurry -- an appointment notification was flashing on my phone, and I didn't have time to contemplate Mr. Snail.
I woke up this morning and checked my investment portfolio. It's something I do as often as I can to gain insight about my holdings.
Remember when you were little how the passage of time seemed to move so excruciatingly slowly? If you've got the voices of little ones around you now, this may doubly resonate with you.
I love jewelry. My kids know it’s all over when we’re walking through any shopping area and my eye catches a jewelry display. I especially love crafted jewelry, and silver is my favorite metal.
I’m drawn to the beauty of curving, weaving strands of silver, dotted with jewels or stones or beads, or impressed with delicate markings, or shaped into intricate designs. Rings, bracelets, earrings, necklaces. . . . I’ve picked them up at vendor booths, on beachside boardwalks, in bookstores on college visits -- somehow I find silver in the least likely places -- or it finds me.
Laura England Miller