...of time you have with your loved ones. They too quickly vanish before all you have left are memories. Don't let petty things get in the way. Keep in touch. One day, you could reach for your phone only to realize you can't call them, can't text them, or even chat on Facebook.
When I put on my shoes this morning, my dad was alive. Tonight, I go to bed missing a parent.
I'll miss you, Daddy.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Fearless Foray into Fantastic Foolhardiness
Hello, world!
I haven't posted in absolutely ages, so I thought I would tonight.
Before I get started up again, pardon me for my what-might-seem-random-to-some, um, ness. Some-ness. I'd like to blame it on a bit of insomnia, but it's probably just me.
First of all, I'm working on getting the fourth book in my A Story With No Title series out. I don't publish them until the blog version of the story is done. For those of you that are interested/hate waiting/curious/etc, the books are actually a blog story that I write, but I change the books a wee bit to make them more...book-y. If you've read this far into the paragraph, then I'm going to guess you might be interested. Go here. <---that's a link. 'Holy nuts, Erin! Why didn't you mention this already?' Because it's been a while since the last book got out. (Why does that make it sound like it escaped?)
Here's a little story about what's on my mind tonight:
When I was little and had spent several hours on the road headed to my first family camping trip, a mysterious odor drifted from the front seat back to my sister and me in the family's tiny Chevrolet. I think I was seven and she was four, so, naturally, we couldn't help but comment upon the smell (in the typical way children do). My little sister blamed my dad (probably accurately), but he denied having anything to do with it. He blamed it on a squirrel, that surely the odor got into the car when we passed a squirrel that had recently "fluffed." My sister, in a fit of giggles, said, "Squirrels don't toot!"
Oh, how my parents loved that. I remember how my mom had looked over at Dad with a grin on her face, knowing he was about to take what my little sister said and run with it. He asked, "They don't toot? Then what do they do? Explode?" She only giggled harder at this, and I couldn't help but join her. They had a hard time calming us down after that, and The Legend of the Exploding Squirrels was born that very night.
Another thing born that night was Dad figuring out that there actually is a point when you can put too much lighter fluid on a campfire...but that's another story.
I haven't posted in absolutely ages, so I thought I would tonight.
Before I get started up again, pardon me for my what-might-seem-random-to-some, um, ness. Some-ness. I'd like to blame it on a bit of insomnia, but it's probably just me.
First of all, I'm working on getting the fourth book in my A Story With No Title series out. I don't publish them until the blog version of the story is done. For those of you that are interested/hate waiting/curious/etc, the books are actually a blog story that I write, but I change the books a wee bit to make them more...book-y. If you've read this far into the paragraph, then I'm going to guess you might be interested. Go here. <---that's a link. 'Holy nuts, Erin! Why didn't you mention this already?' Because it's been a while since the last book got out. (Why does that make it sound like it escaped?)
Here's a little story about what's on my mind tonight:
When I was little and had spent several hours on the road headed to my first family camping trip, a mysterious odor drifted from the front seat back to my sister and me in the family's tiny Chevrolet. I think I was seven and she was four, so, naturally, we couldn't help but comment upon the smell (in the typical way children do). My little sister blamed my dad (probably accurately), but he denied having anything to do with it. He blamed it on a squirrel, that surely the odor got into the car when we passed a squirrel that had recently "fluffed." My sister, in a fit of giggles, said, "Squirrels don't toot!"
Oh, how my parents loved that. I remember how my mom had looked over at Dad with a grin on her face, knowing he was about to take what my little sister said and run with it. He asked, "They don't toot? Then what do they do? Explode?" She only giggled harder at this, and I couldn't help but join her. They had a hard time calming us down after that, and The Legend of the Exploding Squirrels was born that very night.
Another thing born that night was Dad figuring out that there actually is a point when you can put too much lighter fluid on a campfire...but that's another story.
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