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Sunday was Christmas-tree day at the Watsons’. The soles of my shoes squished in parking-lot mud, but our spirits lifted when we saw a stand of ice-blue cedars among the Christmas trees. We knew our tree was there. Read more

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Jilda and I had a minor crisis in our lives this past week. Our coffee maker died. It was a slow, tragic death. Read more

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My Dad’s birthday was this week. He would have been 96 years old. Read more

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There is a mossy rock in the hollow behind our barn. It’s nestled under a canopy of oak, hickory and pine trees. It’s a peaceful place. Read more

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The nature of our backyard changed this summer. We have a new swing. Read more

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