You Take Whatever Works From

When Catherine Told Me About This (tragedy Nearby), I Could Only Say, Shocked, "dear God, That Family Needs Grace." She Replied Firmly, "that Family Needs Casseroles," And Then Proceeded To Organize The Entire Neighborhood Into Bringing That Family Dinner, In Shifts, Every Single Night, For An Entire Year. I Do Not Know If My Sister Fully Recognizes That This _is_ Grace.

Your Fear Is Just As Boring As Mine Is. Everyone's Got The Same One. It Is Not Precious. It Is Not Special. It Is Not Singular To You. It's Just The One We All Got Wired With When We Came In. Focus On Your Unique Qualities That Deserve To Be Celebrated And Put Fear Back In Its Place. Don't Listen To It. Onward.

Both The Five-year-olds Looked At Me With Bewilderment And A Bit Of Fearful Uncertainty. I Had A Sudden Horrifying Image Of The Woman I Might Become If I'm Not Careful: Crazy Aunt Liz. The Divorcee In The Muumuu With The Dyed Orange Hair Who Doesn't Eat Dairy But Smokes Menthols, Who's Always Just Coming Back From Her Astrology Cruise Or Breaking Up With Her Aroma-therapist Boyfriend, Who Reads The Tarot Cards Of Kindergarteners And Says Things Like, "bring Aunty Liz Another Wine Cooler, Baby, And I'll Let You Wear My Mood Ring.

It Has Never Been Easy For Me To Understand Why People Work So Hard To Create Something Beautiful, But Then Refuse To Share It With Anyone, For Fear Of Criticism.

With Each Reunion (we) Had To Learn Each Other All Over Again. There Was Always That Nervous Moment At The Airport When I Would Stand There Waiting For Him To Arrive, Wondering, Will I Still Know Him? Will He Still Know Me?