My sister has pulled herself out of a life of drug addiction and street living. In her sixties she finally managed to kick the habit and now lives in assisted living for the elderly in a nice little apartment, enjoying her life. She loves a visit, a meal out, getting her hair done, or just … Continue reading My sister keeps living and loving
Author: megdedwards
A little library in a little village sees Change
This summer I took on a job that gave me no end of joy, running the Summer Reading Club at my local library. I created programs and crafted and played and read with children all the day long. I was surprised by the high numbers of participants in our program over the summer. I have … Continue reading A little library in a little village sees Change
All Present and Accounted For
Sometimes just as I am going to fall asleep I feel my mind turn over and wake up. It clicks into a different gear. Oh no.
Working in the Library
The young have a built in radar for insincerity and dishonesty that I love. Children and teens are watching your every move for inconsistencies or disingenuous statements.
An Old Marriage
It was her foolishness, this idea of sitting on the grass. I wondered if he was thinking that. Maybe she was thinking it too.
Lord, Lord, Mother Lord.
Sometimes I just say 'Mother' and that is enough. This is my new go-to swear word that I use when I am feeling tested.
Home Wife
A poem from my old life
Moving through time
When they say empty nest, do they mean to paint such a sad picture? Is it an abandoned nest? Is it broken, or infested with bugs? Maybe it is quiet and warm. Pretty, full of colour and spots to lie down and rest. It is quiet though and there are ghosts flitting about, children in … Continue reading Moving through time
Book Review of Six-Figure Freelance Writer – A Holistic Guide on Finding Freedom in Freelancing
The best path to creating a good work/life balance is pretty clear and simple: work for yourself.
Drop out or Opt In?
For some reason this crazy suggestion of adding new 200 buck bill every month was my last straw.
Notes from a Sinking Isthmus 