greaterthansparrows

One of the interesting things about having a child who writes about family experiences is that you go read a different point of view to things you also remember.  It's not like having a four year old parrot words to some other person that you've said in a thoughtless moment that make you wince, but it stops you for a second sometimes. I guess I'm taking a turn today. My oldest daughter speaks of a rough patch in her adolescence as part of her Nauvoo Times column here recently, when she quit piano.  She had real talent and an affinity for music, and we actually got a second car finally so that I could get her started on piano lessons, for which I needed to know I had transportation that wasn't dependent on my husband's schedule.  She was starting third grade; I would have started her a year earlier if it had been possible.  I was anxious not to let it get any later; I knew she needed this. I did not know where to find a teacher.  I had prayed for a piano ...

When I was in Utah in August, I did something I'd never done before.  I needed to see a chiropractor and got a recommendation, and I had to fill out paperwork at his office.  Name, address, occupation, we are all familiar, medical history.  Under occupation, I put two things instead of one:  homemaker and writer.  I have had some years where I had work descriptions to fill in, small part-time jobs, but I had never thought of myself as a writer, in any way that I would declare to the world, before this year. A 'maybe-someday' writer, a potential writer, but not an actual, concrete writer. The doctor ushered me in, glancing over my forms, and said, "It says here that you're a writer.  What kind of a writer?  Are you a journalist? Free-lance work?" "No, well, I have a blog--of course lots of people have blogs--but I write a column for a new Mormon online journal called the Nauvoo Times. It just started up in May."  He was interested, hadn't hear...