Some of the grandsons were staying with us this weekend and one of them came down with a 103-degree temperature. It was the flu, type A.
I hate fever! It does strange things to me. Like a knife, fever brings an impending terror to my mind.
I’ve had the exact same fever dream I’ve had since childhood. It resurrects itself, poking bony fingers up from the cemetery of good health to snag and pull at all sense of well-being.
Fever brings a deep physical and emotional need to fall asleep, a relief really, instead of buried and shivering under mounds of blankets.
Yet once the eyes close and the mind drifts into never land, terror creeps out of the memory grave.
There is something beautiful about clocks, but they seem to move so fast.
It’s true time speeds up with age, or maybe, we just speed up busyness and slow down awareness. I don’t know.
An early childhood memory is sitting still watching a wall clock and realizing that if you stare straight, stare straight and concentrate, you can see the minute hand move each second in the tiniest of tiny movements.
Stories about family, faith, friends and funnies. Pull up a chair. Grab a cup of coffee and laugh, cry, ponder and inspire about ordinary events of this wonderful, ever changing, bubbling pot that we call "every day life".
RabBits 