Dreams are powerful things – hopes, aspirations, goals – whatever you want to call them. I grew up in the country, among the rolling hills, trees and lakes in Michigan. In our family we simply refer to that time as “the farm“. My parents weren’t farmers, although we had an epic garden! After growing up and moving away, there has always been a part of my soul that longs for the whispers of the great white pine outside my bedroom window, the smell of freshly mown hay, the crickets singing in the fall…seeing the woods come alive in the spring… Sometimes suburbia wears me out. My dreams lead to open…

So many things in my head today – many about Mom and Dad. I suppose it’s because in a few days Mom will have been gone for four years. Rather than be sad, I would like to celebrate her life. I know Papa won’t be jealous. In fact, I’m quite sure he will join my little memory party. For starters, here is an early recollection. Mom was slender and small boned. She loved to rock in her special rocking chair. I don’t know where they got the one she had when we were growing up, but it sat two – as long as you were only as wide as Mom.…

It was a beautiful autumn day. One where the sun seems to fire the burnished leaves with hidden light. The sky was as blue as a sapphire, and the temperature just cool enough to encourage exploration. This day marked a turning point, had she but known it. It was the first time in her entire life where she had been, as they say, “on her own” like this. There was no one to tell her where to go or what to do. It was Saturday, and her workload was caught up…and here she was, by herself in Washington, D.C. There was a vaguely uneasy sensation in the pit of her…