Wildflower Writes

It’s quiet. My entire family fell asleep within minutes of hitting their pillows. I guess five hours of water play, a sophisticated scavenger hunt, animatronic story-time, and a full-length movie will do that to you. Why is it when you just start getting into the groove of vacation- do what you want, when you want, all at a leisurely pace- you have to pack up and look forward to the next break? When I went on vacation as a kid, there were not many choices. Dad decided when we were leaving, and Mom decided what we could pack. On the way, it didn’t matter if you were hot, hungry, thirsty, or your bladder was ready to explode, we would stop when Dad was ready, which usually meant when the gas tank was near empty. Once we arrived, we weren’t able to go anywhere without adult supervision. Our parents determined when and where we would eat and shop. I am not complaining about our vacations. Our beach vacations were some of the best memories of my childhood. My husband and I have just chosen ...

“Life is a gift, and it offers us the privilege, opportunity, and responsibility to give something back by becoming more.” - Tony Robbins When someone as beautiful, talented, and blessed as Natasha Richards passes on, we all pause. Our hearts break for young sons, a devoted husband, and other family and friends. We wonder what plans they had for after their ski trip, for next year, for the future. We wonder about the last mundane conversation with her husband was about before she fell. It makes me wonder… if I died tomorrow… what would people remember about me? Have I made good with the gift of life given to me? Have I used the talents and knowledge developed in my lifetime for the best use? Have I, as Henry David Thoreau said, “...live[d] deep and suck[ed] out all the marrow of life… live[d] so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life… cut a broad swath and shave[d] close… drive[n] life into a corner, and reduce[d] it to its lowest terms...”? Life is so precio...

It’s Saturday, and I have to go to work. Just a few minutes from home, I see an odd object in the opposite side of the road. It looks like maybe a branch that’s fallen off a nearby tree. I slow as I get closer- as much to see what it is as to comply with the speed limit in a hospital zone. It’s… an animal, an opossum. It’s perfectly still and upright. If it weren’t for the streak of red down the side of it’s face, I would have guessed it was alive. It’s not moving. It must have been flipped up on it’s haunches when it got hit by a car. I feel sorry for it. Then, I wondered. How many of us look like we’re upright and alive, but inside, we’re really dead? What does it mean to be truly alive? Is it having a lot of friends? Is it experiencing nature close up? Is it a script: Be born, go to school, get job, get married, have kids, retire, die? Is it the kind of fear experienced on a roller coaster or the happiness of falling in love? I maintain that life requires gr...