Adjectives are the unsung heros of nouns.
Saturday, my father, my daughter, and two friends went to cut our Christmas tree. Every year, we march out to some spot out of town for the annual sawing down of the Tannenbaum.
Twice in the last several months I’ve had occasion to tell the tale of the time I stood in front of my late husband’s closet, charged with choosing the clothes in which he’d be buried.
We have been waiting for weeks now to sing that very first verse: “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!”
The below appeared in the Sioux Falls Argus Leader newspaper today. I’m reposting it here, because it’s a Holy Saturday-ish set of musings.
My daughter Else and I have settled in these last several nights to read Bridge to Terabithia.
After the accident, somebody told me that that best metaphor that they could think for me was that of Holy Saturday.
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