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It’s late, and I would rather be sleeping. But a part of my story keeps bouncing around in my head. I hope that by adding it here I won’t be pestered by it anymore, and  at the end of this page a peaceful nights sleep awaits me. So here it is… I have always been a little jealous of people who had “a thing”. Something they were really, really good at and passionate about. I have friends who are good at sports, art, and making people laugh. I admire great musicians, and while I

When my “Granny”, as I refer to her, moved to her home in Georgia, she was adamant that she have one thing in particular in her new...

My Papa Frank was never a very chatty person, but he was also one of those people that didn’t really have to say all that much. His actions spoke volumes.  He grew up in a family that farmed and for as long as I knew him, he grew a very large vegetable garden in the yard.  Every morning, he would make a cup of coffee, black as night, pour it into a wooden bowl and blow across the surface to cool it to a barely drinkable temperature.  After he finished his coffee and a cigaret