And then, softly, ever so softly, I heard voices in cadence with my mouthed lyrics. They were subdued at first, but gained momentum with each word. I joined their forces — as loud as I dared (given my bad voice and all). "Were so gallantly streaming." This part was barely audible. And then things got louder. "And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there ..." The crowd picked up where the sound system quit. It was nothing less than magical and miraculous and energizing. By the end, the entire crowd was participating and it was one of the most powerful spur of the moment events I've had the opportunity to be a part of.
Sometimes (oftentimes) numbers don't make sense — to me, at least. Oh sure, 2 plus 2 equals 4, and numbers are unchangeable, so they should follow logical standards. But they don't. Therein lies the mystery. Let's start with gas — the gallon variety. Why is gas priced at a certain amount plus nine-tenths of a cent? Nothing else is priced this way. Not other things we buy by the gallon — like milk or water or whiskey.
You probably don't realize the weirdness of your own because it's just the way your family does things, so that makes it normal for you. Like peanut butter on pancakes or ketchup on potato chips.
Now, I look back on those sleep-deprived days and am thankful for memories of sweet baby breath and pudgy baby fingers grasping my thumb as the rhythm of the rocking chair lulled us both to sleep in the middle of the night. I am thankful for fingerprints on the windows and muddy footprints across the kitchen floor.
Based on the blockbuster movie of the same name, the stage version tells the story of fashion major Elle Woods as she heads to Harvard Law School to follow the man of her dreams, only to discover that dreams can change and being yourself never goes out of style.
It is hard waiting for them to get here because waiting is never easy. And this bout of waiting is the longest 10 months of your life, even though everyone claims it's only nine. Once you've been there and done the math, you know the truth and the truth is often hard.
It was an unassuming Sunday afternoon. I had to venture to the store for a few items. It was a leisurely excursion. Unlike most days, I wasn't in a hurry and indulged in the luxury of lollygagging my way through the aisles. Picture a normal, average shopper in the camping department examining flashlights. Commonplace, ordinary and routine. That's me.
Slices of Life By Jill Pertler ********* The Table has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, it was my fortress; I crawled under it, learning every crack and crevice from the underside. It seemed massive from my little girl perspective. Larger than life. The Table held a revered position in the household. It was old, older than all of us put together — and that even included my dad. It was old, but it was perfect. From the intricately-carved claw feet to the highly-polished, pristine ebony top with grooved edge.
Besides, the little black beauty sitting in a cage crying switched her sounds over to purring the second we picked her up. In that regard, I suppose she chose us as much as we chose her — even though we didn’t really choose her because we didn’t have a choice.
Whether it’s a TV star or regular Joe, I’m not typically good at knowing the exact identity of someone I recognize. Especially in unexpected situations.