JayZ and I have something in common…

JayZ (from drwizard.files.wordpress.com)

We have a running joke in our house about rappers who disappear from the scene, then appear on some glitzy awards show a few months later with an “I’m Back!” tribute to themselves.

It drives GB crazy.

“Back from what?” he asks the TV. “Where did he go? Did he go somewhere?” We both scoff happily because please, how ridiculous.

So. [Clears throat.] How’s it going.

Raise your hands in the AAAAAAAIR. Because I’m BACK!…from 36×37 assignment #24. [Cue backup dancers.]

(I’m also back from assignments #25 and 26, which I’m hoping to write about later this week.)

While I’m putting those thoughts to screen, I hope you’ll enjoy the guest-post I wrote last week for my wonderful and esteemed writer-friend Amanda (of Amanda’s Wrinkled Pages). Special thanks to Amanda for publishing it, and for introducing me to her loyal readers, all of whom I look forward to visiting in the blogosphere as soon as I catch up from being away.

(If you haven’t had the chance to stop by Amanda’s blog, please do. Not only is she a fantastic and inspiring writer, she’s also a cool chick with a quick sense of humor and a salt-of-the-earth personality. She’s an excellent read, and I do hope you’ll visit her often.)

(Also, my warmest thanks to last week’s guest bloggers. Sunshine, Todd, Wendy, Jane, I’m truly grateful you were willing to share your words on these pages last week. You were exemplary house guests, and I’m glad you ate the ice cream, although I’m not surprised you left the Riesling poached pear sorbet. I’m with you…it sounds better than it tastes.)

Anyway, without further ado, here’s the piece I wrote about finding inspiration in unexpected places…

~*~

The Cub and the Ad Girl ~ by 36×37

I remember meeting Jennifer. I liked her right away. When I walked into these sprawling corporate offices for the first time, there she was, tapping her pen against her notebook. She was short like me, with curly hair, a friendly, bespectacled face and an opening for a position I really wanted.

We shook hands and chatted about the summer heat as she hustled toward a table. We talked about the job, of course, but mostly we talked about writing. Tone. Style. Voice. Pace. Active voice vs. passive voice. In her notebook, she sketched an organizational diagram and told me how writing played a part in this corporate culture.

My ears hummed happily. I sat up straighter and tried to look professional.

“We follow the AP Stylebook,” she said brightly. “I know you know what that is!”

I had no idea what she was talking about, although I suspected it had something to do with the Scripps School of Journalism. We were both Ohio University J-school brats: she’d spent her years there as a journalism major; I’d spent mine in its advertising program. Until now, I didn’t really need to know AP Style, but given the look on her face, I could see it would be best not to disclose that.

So I think I nodded a little.

She grinned. “Good. We live and die by the AP Stylebook here. It’s the corporate communicator’s bible.” She said my second interview would be a series of writing tests, so I bought the Stylebook that day and studied it feverishly.

I received the job offer over the phone while I was on vacation, eating sugar cereal at a beach house on Hilton Head Island. After shrieking my acceptance, I hung up, walked onto the balcony overlooking the sea, and dialed my then-boss. “I resign, Bill,” I said. Then I laughed and wished him luck.

It was a proud moment. I quit a horrible job for a great one, and I did it while gazing, suntanned, at the dunes and rolling tide. Everyone should have that experience at least once.

~*~

Jennifer cut her teeth as a cub reporter at a suburban news publication here in Columbus. When I say she was gifted, that’s what I truly mean. One local community loved her so much that it hosted a celebration in her honor. (I’m not kidding. They called it “Jennifer W______ Day.”) She’s the only person I know who actually has the key to a city. When she left the newspaper for a corporate gig, she brought her reporting sensibilities with her.

Everything I learned about corporate writing, I learned from Jennifer. And trust me, she had her work cut out for her. When I started the job, my writing was a mess, both on the job and off. It—or maybe more accurately, I—was trite and undisciplined. I hated everything I penned outside of the office, to the point where I’d stopped writing altogether.

So Jennifer set to work. She established a rigorous “EYES2” program, which involved reviewing every single last thing I wrote under her tutelage. My pages came back bleeding under the merciless scrape of her flowing red pen. My skin was thin. Those critiques ripped me open.

Over time, though, my pages stopped hemorrhaging. The bleeding slowed to a gush, then to a trickle. Occasionally, Jennifer would stop by my desk, hand me a client letter I’d drafted, and say, “Fabu!” Then she’d nod and walk away to grab some tea.

If the page was completely ink-free, that was the best compliment I could ask for.

~*~

That was eight years ago. After three years, we both left the department for jobs with more reasonable hours. We still work for the same global bank, but I manage a small team of editors now, and she oversees a large team of writers. We had the chance to work together again last year. Now that she has moved on again, I miss her even more, because this time, we parted as friends without hierarchical boundaries.

In April, I started a blog because I wanted to write for myself again. After 10 years of packing away my creative side, I donned the clothes of a creative writer, just to see what would happen.

It was strange. My old voice was gone, murdered in its sleep.

The new voice was patchy and unsure of itself, but still it was there. I pulled it over my head, snuggled into it and liked how it felt. And so I wear it a little more each day.

Writing feels better these days. It feels familiar, like stepping onto a sunlit balcony and watching the tides while you say to someone nameless, “I quit, and now I’m free of you,” then hang up the phone to write some more.

It’s a proud moment. Every writer should have that experience at least once.

~*~ Find me on Twitter: @36×37
~*~ Visit http://36×37.wordpress.com

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A Rant…

Welcome to Day 3 of the 36×37 Guest Blogging Blitz!

I wish Wendy (from Herding Cats in Hammond River) lived nearer to Ohio than Canada. We’ve never met in person, but I spend my tea-time with her blog every weekday morning, and that’s enough to make us friends and neighbors—at least in my book. She’s an Ohio native, so she has Buckeye blood. Add her wickedly funny writing style to the mix? Almost too good to be true.

Wendy owns a book store with her father. She started her blog this year “as a way of keeping [her] writing skills sharp.” Her posts are crisp and well-appointed, to be sure, but they’re also warm, natural and unassuming. Her blog is, as she describes, “a mix of a little bit of everything – memories, everyday life, rants, cooking and gardening, to name a few.”

Speaking of rants, Wendy posted the following piece on Earth Day this past April. It’s a “rant,” indeed, and it’s hilarious.

~*~

From Herding Cats in Hammond River: A Rant

On this Earth Day, many people are thinking about R words: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle…I’ve been thinking about some other R words – mothers of teenagers will relate:

Please forgive me if I ramble.  I am in a rut.  I go back and forth between rage and resentment.  I’m on a roller coaster in retrograde.  Reproduction seemed like a good idea at the time, but I admit, I am reconsidering – sometimes I wish we were not related.

Pregnancy, When Children are Easy…

I remember when I could reconcile them with a rational explanation for my refusal of their request – now I must rail like a raving lunatic to reinforce the regulations.  I am not rigid.  I realize that my role has been reduced to that of a referee in charge of rebels on a rampage.  Instead of being receptive to my reminders, they recoil at the restrictions.  They are reckless, rude and downright rotten!

Whistle…

What about responsibility?  Is it realistic to require them to rinse their receptacles before putting them in the dishwasher (I suppose I should be relieved that they even retrieve them)?  Our living room is now a rec room – they recline, play Rock Band, blast rap music, and rebuff any rejoinders to “Turn down that racket!”  I have tried to reclaim repose from their rambuctiousness – they regard me with ridicule when I redouble my efforts at re-establishing the rules.  My rationality is ravelling!

Our Rockers…

It seems that my raison d’etre is to respond to their every requirement.  Attempts to recruit them to do a little work are met with reproaches about how “rough” it is to live here, and requests for remuneration.  I might have to resort to using a rake to rid ourselves of the rubbish!

Rake…

They are relentlessly ravenous!  They root through the refrigerator like raccoons, but refrain from eating real food when it’s set on the table before them.  It’s all I can do to restrain myself!  When I reprimand them, they are recalcitrant.

Raccoon…

I don’t relish mornings.  There is no respite as I rush from room to room reminding recumbent residents of the relentless passage of time.  They resent my role in getting them to rise.  It’s the same routine every day, regardless of my remonstrances.  It is a relief when they run out the door.

Alarm Clock…

Can I get a refund for this riff raff?  Is it too late to become a recluse?  A radical approach might be to set them adrift on a raft down the river…with my luck, I’d be caught red-handed!  Maybe I could raffle them off?

~*~

Remember to check out Herding Cats in Hammond River today. <–I’ve even added this handy link to help you out.

Now, for a 36×37 Assignment #24 Update: The ringtone. I hear it in my sleep. My right eye is twitching. I want my mother.

Come back, tomorrow—the always funny Jane from PlaneJaner’s Journey will take us through the weekend. Then I’ll greet you on Monday with more new content from me.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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From Todd Pack’s Messy Desk: “We’re not here to play airplanes, we’re here to play soccer.”

Welcome to Day 2 of the 36×37 Guest Blogging Blitz!

Today, I’m quite pleased to bring you Todd Pack of Todd Pack’s Messy Desk. This is indeed a great honor; not only does Todd serve up a consistently funny and well-written blog (which has been featured on the WordPress homepage four times in less than a year), he’s an all-around good dude, and such a fun read.

Todd is a Kentucky kid who spends his days in Nashville. He describes himself as “…more Mayberry and sweet tea than NASCAR and rasslin’,” and that’s exactly what comes across in his writing. He posts a lot about his family, particularly his kids, Thing 1 and Thing 2. When I asked him to pick a “Best of” piece to share with you today, he sent me this piece about Thing 2 and his soccer team.

~*~

I heard myself say this the other day to a couple of 4-year-olds (not mine):

“We’re not here to play airplanes. We’re here to play soccer.” I was trying my best to channel Mr. Rogers.

Thing 2′s soccer coach couldn’t make it, and he’d asked me and another dad to fill in. We were playing a scrimmage, and 2 of my 3 players had decided they’d rather be airplanes.

“Let’s just do the best we can,” I said. The boys nodded — one gave me a really sweet, really sincere thumbs up — and we lined up.

“What’s your name?” a boy on the other team asked.

Todd, I said.

He thought this was really funny, like I’d said my name was Booger.

The other dad blew his whistle (why didn’t I get a whistle?), and his team drove the ball down the field. Thing 2 was on my team, and he did his best to steal the ball, but his teammates had taken off, soaring low over the neighboring soccer field, swooping and diving toward the parking lot, their moms chasing after them.

Then, the boy who thought my name was funny thought it would be funny to bounce the ball off my bottom.

It was pretty fun, being a substitute soccer coach, but I’ll be glad when the real coach gets back. You’ve got to have a lot of patience and a good sense of humor to coach a bunch of kids, especially a bunch of 4-year-old boys.

I could handle it for an hour, but I don’t think I’d last a full season.

Those who can, coach. Those who can’t, bring the snacks.

~*~

Bonus!

As a side note, I should mention Todd Pack sent me photograph of a Roadside Shoe! he spotted at the Franklin Family Entertainment Center, a bowling alley and arcade in Franklin, TN. As if a Roadside Shoe! weren’t notable enough, turns out snow sometimes falls on Nashville.

“Gotta wonder how anybody loses 1 shoe on a snowy day like that,” he wrote. “I wonder if the person wore his or her rental shoes home.”

Which, you know, is wholly plausible. At the end of the day, who among us wouldn’t want a good pair of bowling shoes?

~*~

Remember to check out Todd Pack’s Messy Desk today. <–I’ve even added this handy link to help you out.

Now, for a 36×37 Assignment #24 Update: I’ve got the shakes, but I’m still iPhone free.

Come back, tomorrow—the delightful Wendy of Herding Cats in Hammond River will be at bat.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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From Sunshine in London: “Which Part Do You Hold for Luck?”

Welcome to Day 1 of the 36×37 Guest Blogging Blitz!

Oh, you are going to love Sunshine. If you haven’t discovered her yet, you’re in for a treat. I stumbled upon her wonderful blog, Sunshine in London, in September and was immediately a rabid fan.

Sunshine is a South African who moved to London in September 2009. She’s a practiced people watcher, a skilled reporter of the absurd, and a talented humorist and writer. Throw all of those elements together, and you get a funny, beautifully written and always interesting point of view. I tend to avoid sipping hot substances while reading her posts, lest I spill all over myself from laughing.

Sunshine in London has a recurring feature designed to introduce her readers to Saffa (South African) and London slang words. When I asked Sunshine to pick a “Best of” piece to share with you this week, this was her perfect selection.

~*~

If you were heading off to a job interview and I said, “I’m holding thumbs for you!” how would you respond? If you were a Saffa, like me, you’d say, “Thanks. I need it.” If you were from anywhere else you’d look at me and frown. And if you were British, it’s likely you’d frown and you might say, “WTF?” (Why The Fums?)

Well, where I come from, holding thumbs means the same as the British “fingers crossed”. It means good luck, I’m wishing you well and every success. I used the expression when I was communicating with a work associate earlier this year, and she asked me what I was on about! I was quite surprised, as I thought it was a universal expression, but thinking about it, it must just be a literal translation from the Afrikaans expression. I’d be interested to know who else is familiar with holding thumbs?

So with all my job hunting, I’ve had Saffa friends holding thumbs for me, British friends crossing their fingers for me, and even a dear friend who said he’d cross everything he had in pairs for me!

There are a number of expressions and words that I use that make no sense here, and vice versa. I thought I’d run through a bunch of them:

• In SA, we wear pants, and underneath them, we wear underpants. In Britain, people wear pants under their trousers.
• I wear takkies, which are known around here as trainers or sneakers.
• A fabulous sunny SA leisure pastime is a braai, known here as a barbecue, or BBQ. Our Ozzie friends talk about barbies, but that’s the subject of another blog!
• What I call a geyser, is known locally as a boiler or a hot water system. If I asked someone here to come in and check out the geyser, they’d send over a doctor to look at my husband!
• Our flat overlooks a small dock, filled with yachts and boats. Most of the boats have people living in them. They have a communal ablution block, which I understand is known locally as a shower unit.
• I communicate via sms on my cellphone. Here, you send texts or you message from your mobiles.
• We have to be careful inviting people for tea here. It could mean afternoon tea or it could mean supper.
• Don’t get me started on flapjacks, pancakes, scones, crumpets – who knows what any of them mean! I don’t have a clue!
• If I do someone a favour, they could respond by saying any of the following: ta, cheers, brilliant, wicked.
• Are you stopping means are you staying.
• Where I might harp on about something – like job hunting! – others here might bang on about it.
• When I started my temp job earlier this year, a colleague asked me if I wanted a drink. I thought gosh, I know it’s important to fit in, but drinking at 11 o’clock in the morning? And at work? As I felt all my possible responses flash before my eyes, he said, “What’d you like, tea or coffee?” Where I come from, if I offered someone a drink it would usually refer to an alcoholic one, otherwise I’d offer to make you a cup of tea or coffee!
• There are a number of words here that mean very:
  • dead:  I was part of a small market research group a few weeks ago, and the wonderful market researcher, shy as a button, introduced the process to us by saying, “Right, it’s going to be dead informal.”
  • well: you could describe a good-looking person as well fit, or a bright person as well clever. My favourite explanation of this comes from one of my nephews. He believes that Jesus was definitely from London, given that God said of Him, “This is my Son, in whom I am well pleased.”
  • bear: I don’t know this one too well, but my lovely sons tell me that it’s used a lot by their young adult contemporaries. It’s bear cold out there, bruv.  I could write a whole blog about language of that generation – watch this space!

There is a delightful commercial on television in SA for a fast-food chain. It features a young, Afrikaans couple sitting on a bench together on the porch of their home in a small, rural town. To impress her, he’s memorized the menu of the coffee offering of the chain, and he recites them one by one: “Macchiato. Cappuccino. Mocha. Americano.” With each word, his girlfriend gets more excited and amorous. Eventually she lumbers her heavy arms around him, snuggles into his neck and says, “Ooh, I love it when you talk forrin.”

I had a telephone call this morning from a telecommunications service provider. We had a brief and disastrous encounter with them when we arrived in London, and would never go with them again. The caller said, “I believe you were a former customer of ….?” To which I said, “Yes.” He said, “Oh, you were for years?” And I said, “No. Not for years. I said yes.” So he said, “Oh. Are you still a customer then?” It reminded me of the paper plane conversation I blogged about a few weeks ago, but made me realize once again, that in these parts, I sure talk forrin!

Sunshine signing off for today!

~*~

Remember to check out Sunshine in London today. <–I’ve even added this handy link to help you out.

Now, for a 36×37 Assignment #24 Update: What up, y’all, I’m still iPhone free! And even though I’m writing this on a Saturday night, before I’ve even officially kicked off the assignment, I still know it’s true because if it weren’t, my future self would have swooped in and deleted this sentence and fessed up to her failure.

See? Big props to Future Maura for being two days clean.

Come back, tomorrow—the hilarious Todd Pack of Todd Pack’s Messy Desk will have the floor.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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Daft Punk is playin’ at my house, a-my house.

I have some pimping to do. That’s why I’m wearing these shoes—so you’ll know I mean business.

(google image from http://www.trade-show-guru.com)

As you’re reading this, I’m working my way through 36×37 assignment #24—or what my friend Supergoddess has dubbed my week-long “techie break.” Instead of blogging or tweeting or texting or facebooking or checking work e-mail and the like, I’m doing other dorky/awesome things I’ll tell you about next week.

That’s where the shoes come in; I need to pimp what’s going to happen here while I’m away.

1) I’m not here, I’m there.

I’m guest-blogging today at Amanda’s Wrinkled Pages (Twitter: @amandahoving). Amanda has completed a novel, and now she’s preparing to send it aloft to a handful of agents. Meanwhile, she has asked a few bloggers to write about finding inspiration in unexpected places. I’m honored and excited that she thought of me for the series, and I’m looking forward to meeting her readers. Be sure to visit Amanda and me today, then take time to spin through her excellent blog—it’s truly one of my favorites.

(Don’t worry, I’ll remind you at the bottom of this post. That’s right; I tend to keep my pimp hand strong.)

2) And while I’m there, a few guest bloggers are here.

They’re watching the house. They’re keeping the shop. They’re checking the mail and feeding the fish. I’ve stocked the freezer with delicious Jeni’s Ice Cream, and I’ve ordered them to make themselves at home. I hope you’ll be neighborly, chat them up a bit, then stop by their places for a while.

Here’s an at-a-glance of what’s coming this week. Be sure to check back daily; you don’t want to miss a word from these funny and illustrious friends:

Tuesday – Sunshine from Sunshine in London

Wednesday – Todd Pack from Todd Pack’s Messy Desk

Thursday – Wendy from Herding Cats in Hammond River

Friday – Jane from Planejaner’s Journey

3) And now, for something that is seemingly everywhere…

FYI, I’ve hidden an Roadside Shoes! Easter Egg in one of the guest posts! I hope you enjoy it.

Excellent.

Now. Look at me, then look at my pimp shoes. If they don’t remind you to read my guest-post at Amanda’s Wrinkled Pages, maybe this link will.

~*~ Follow me on Twitter: @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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36×37 Assignments #24 and 25 (and Possibly 26 and 27)

(google image from visualharmonydesigns.com)

I hate telephones. I think they are the devil.

When I’m at home and the telephone rings, I let GB take the call. If I’m alone, I have to talk myself into answering. Friends and family leave voicemail, then they text, tweet or facebook to scold me for never calling back.

It’s a wonder, then, why I’m such a geek for my iPhone. We’re inseparable. It’s a 24/7 relationship. That sleek, iconic face is the last one I see at night, and the first one I see in the morning.

Which is sick, really. I spend more time with my iPhone than anyone or anything else. If it’s not in my hand, it’s in my purse or my pocket or playing music on its docking station or charging quietly on my nightstand. It’s ridiculous.

So I’m (temporarily) giving it up. I’m going off-grid. I’m taking a week-long iPhone vacation. No blogging or texting or tweeting or facebooking. No checking work e-mail. No nothin’.

It’s 36×37 assignment #24, and I absolutely cannot wait. Because I’m hoping it will break me of a habit that truly needs to be broken.

Here’s what will happen while I’m not plugged in:

• I’ll be working on 36×37 assignment #25 (and possibly #26 and 27). I’d love to spill the details now, but I won’t. Because as much as I hate to be surprised, I still love surprises.
• I’ve asked a few of my friends to entertain you while I’m away. They’ll start their guest-blogging festivities on Monday. They’re some of the funniest writers I know, and I have no doubt you’ll be very pleased to meet them. Be nice by showering them with lots of comments and clicking back to their blogs. You’ll find hours and hours of additional entertainment, and I promise, you’ll be glad you took the time. P.S. – If you’re a friend of the 36×37 facebook page, you’ll see these posts in your list of status updates the same way you do every weekday morning. (FYI, I’ve enlisted GB to link up the posts for me. I’m stating that for the record, so you don’t think I’m cheating.)
• Also, you know, there’s nothing wrong with visiting my old posts… There are 144 of them, after all. And they love the company. Just check out the “Categories” and “Archives” sections in the right column of every 36×37 page. (And while you’re at it, you really should subscribe!)

Happy reading, friends. I’ll be back in the blogging saddle on January 17.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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Featured Blogger: Amanda Broadfoot

{Quick Intro} A few weeks ago, I ran into my friend Mary at the park. She stood at the base of a tree while her son shimmied up to the first low-hanging branches. She waved as I approached, and when I asked how she’d been, she said “I think I’m a little bit tired.”

Mary’s son was diagnosed with autism last year. She’ll speak openly about the gamut of tests Jake has completed, and the wonderful early intervention programs they’ve discovered. That’s why I see a happy little boy when I look at Jake. With some help, he’s discovering the world. He’s surrounded by a family who loves him. He’s thriving. But as Mary will tell you, the external, social challenges are as tough as her son’s diagnosis. As Jake struggles to understand the world, it struggles to understand him back.

That’s why I seized this opportunity to feature Amanda Broadfoot (AmandaBroadfoot.com). She is a fabulous, heart-felt blogger, and she has two small children at home. She writes about motherhood for Tallahassee’s Examiner.com. And she writes about autism. Her post below absolutely took my breath away.  

Please read today’s item, then visit AmandaBroadfoot.com. Her site is bursting with truly great writing, solid parenting resources, and helpful tools for parents of special needs children.

Amanda, to you from me: I think you’re pretty amazing. Keep writing about this. Your Billy is beautiful, and you have so much to be proud of.

~*~

Dream a Little Dream…
A guest post by Amanda
AmandaBroadfoot.com

I had the most incredible dream a few nights ago. It was so real, because for once, I had actually managed to remain asleep long enough to get some R.E.M. sleep. I might have slipped into a mild coma, I was so tired. But nonetheless, I dreamed.

In my dream, Billy woke me up. He was standing next to my bed and talking, completely normally about his day, about the friends he wanted to see at school, about his favorite things to do. He was looking into my eyes and just talking and talking and talking.

I couldn’t move or speak myself. In my dream, I was purposely remaining silent, because there was a part of me that knew that any sudden sound or movement could burst this moment like a bubble. I treated him like a baby deer that had wandered into my bedroom. If I said or did anything, he might suddenly remember that he was autistic and stop talking.

This was a better dream than the time I dreamed that Josh Holloway from “Lost” turned up at my front door and told me he was madly in love with me and I had to let him down easy.

In my Billy dream, I woke up suddenly. One of the kids probably made some sound on one of the baby monitors.

By the time I was awake, though, everything was quiet. And I felt like I’d been punched. Half-asleep, I kind of clawed at the air where Billy had been standing in my dream, like I could grab hold of that ghost-Billy and pull him into the real world. My face was wet, but I didn’t remember crying.

Then I heard my Billy, the real Billy, over the monitor. He was singing, “If you’re happy and you know it” at top volume. And I knew I wouldn’t trade him for anything in this world. I wouldn’t trade him for an imaginary, perfectly communicating Billy — as much as I’d like to make his life easier.

He’s happy and he knows it.

And so when conversations about a “cure” for autism take place, I’m coming from a different perspective than I did a couple of years ago. If someone handed me a pill and said that I could give it to Billy and his autism would be gone immediately and forever, I’d have a lot of questions. What would happen to his beautiful singing voice? His amazing memory? His fantastic sense of humor? His quirky way of looking at the world? Would he still love to be tickled “On the head, on the feet, on the EYES!!”? Would he still demand “Mama’s bed!” every single morning? Would he still wake up singing?

Billy’s not the talker that he was in my dream. At least, not yet. But we’re getting there. Some days are harder than others — for all of us. But he is making wonderful progress every single day.

I like to think that dream was a glimpse into the future, that for a few brief seconds, I was given the gift of seeing what we’re working toward. Someone somewhere maybe knew that in order to keep hoping and believing and working, I needed to experience what was possible. Maybe it was an early Mother’s Day present from my guardian angel.

Who knows? Josh Holloway could knock on my door any minute now. Poor guy; I’ll try not to break his heart. But you know, it’s only fair to hear him out.

~*~

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37     

~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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