My grandma would only give me one old postcard for my birthdays. I would frown and roll my eyes. I was 17 when she di:ed. When I was 37,
I went to my childhood home and found a jar with her 17 postcards. I turned one and froze. It was not just a random postcard. She had written a small poem about me, filled with specific details from that year of my life. Some were sweet little observations; others were pieces of advice for my “future self.”
The bed runner, a colorful fabric strip typically placed at the foot of hotel beds, might seem decorative but serves severa practical purposes. Travelers often use it…
Destroys Dementia, Inflammation, Pain, Arthritis, Osteoarthritis (Don’t Spend More at the Pharmacy) Natural remedies have gained attention for their potential to ease symptoms of chronic conditions like…
I had a friend. She was brought up by her great-aunt and lived with her. Her life was hard, and she was always depressed. I felt sorry…
A 6-Year-Old Girl Stole My Daughter’s Lunchbox, and the Teacher Sided With the Thief—So I Taught Them All a Lesson When my 6-year-old daughter came home upset…
An old blind cowboy accidentally wanders into an all-girl biker bar, finds his way to a barstool, and orders a Jack Daniels. After sitting there for a…
When my mom passed away from cancer, I was just 14. The one thing that kept her spirit alive in our house was her antique Steinway piano….