475. the blessing of “permission" to leave home
476. stewardesses that repeat themselves- twice {equals getting off the wrong airplane and on the right airplane}
477. small airports
478. serenading stewardess
479. pita chips and ginger ale
480. Soperton hospitality transplanted in North Carolina
481. childhood friends........and their beautiful children
482. Paula, running for my Momma
483. deer, still at dusk
484. warm pound cake at bedtime
485. Jesus lovin’ country girl with a violin
486. gal named Christa whose lyrics and melodies captivate
487. quiet farmer’s wife from Canada who who writes and speaks words to ponder
488. experiencing it with her
489. voices and instruments by the lake
490. a friend who can carry the conversation when I cannot
491. sore stomach muscles from laughing
492. Dramamine {my new best recommendation}
493. son in my lap before I knew the car door had opened
494. daughter lighting all candles to welcome me home
495. “[His writing] my story into His song, my life for the glory of God”
476. stewardesses that repeat themselves- twice {equals getting off the wrong airplane and on the right airplane}
477. small airports
478. serenading stewardess
479. pita chips and ginger ale
480. Soperton hospitality transplanted in North Carolina
481. childhood friends........and their beautiful children
482. Paula, running for my Momma
483. deer, still at dusk
484. warm pound cake at bedtime
485. Jesus lovin’ country girl with a violin
486. gal named Christa whose lyrics and melodies captivate
487. quiet farmer’s wife from Canada who who writes and speaks words to ponder
488. experiencing it with her
489. voices and instruments by the lake
490. a friend who can carry the conversation when I cannot
491. sore stomach muscles from laughing
492. Dramamine {my new best recommendation}
493. son in my lap before I knew the car door had opened
494. daughter lighting all candles to welcome me home
495. “[His writing] my story into His song, my life for the glory of God”
{I still find myself a bit muddled in my thoughts about the weekend-- and days pass without time to clear them. Soon, I hope, I can “frame the clouds” moving and morphing through fingers and keys.)
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