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I’ve lost track of which stage of grief I’m at when it comes to losing my old way of life. At any rate, I definitely am not feeling accepting of the situation anymore.

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There have been many times throughout my life when I have felt left behind.  Mostly by friends at one time or the other, either they went off to a different college than me or got a job and made new friends and there I was just still hanging around doing whatever.

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When it started, I thought I’d have a funny story to tell. But when it ended, the story was sad.

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Sunday was Mother’s Day. I got a nap. It wasn’t wrapped in beautiful paper or topped with a bow, but it was more loved and cherished than diamonds or pearls could ever have been.

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When spring comes I always feel like it’s the most beautiful time of year. Things turn green overnight, and that’s usually what I notice the most. This year though, since things are calmed down and there is no where to be besides sitting on my front porch or looking out my back window, I’ve noticed a lot more.

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There are three occasions in which I believe a so-called backslider such as myself ought to step across the threshold of the church house throughout the course of the year: pastor appreciation, homecoming and Easter. For reasons obvious to all, I did not get to attend sunrise service this year.

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For a month or two every time I got into my car and listened to the news it seemed they were talking about the coronavirus. That’s when it was in China. There, everyone was wearing masks because that was the polite thing to do, and one man said he had watched an awful lot of Netflix.

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I want to write something about something that doesn’t matter. I want to sit here at my computer and tell you about how I’m sick of the rain, or about the $75 worth of seeds I got in the mail last week. 

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The past few days around here have been nerve-racking as everything. At the end of last week I was sitting on a blanket on the floor with the kids and the cat.

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It’s happening. Our house is finally getting fixed. The contractor says it should only take a week and a half and that we don’t have to move out. I feel like this is too good to be true, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

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By this time next week little sister will be almost a week old. We’ll call her Nellie James, short for Eleanor.

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Thanksgiving, oh Thanksgiving. It truly is one of my favorite holidays.

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A little while back I finally started recycling.  I always thought that doing so would lend some relief to the years of guilt I had from not starting recycling sooner. That hasn’t really been the case though.

Danielle Wallingsford Kirkland is a former Sentinel staff writer and correspondent. She can be reached at danielle.w.kirkland@gmail.com.

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I know some people don’t like it much, but I sure am enjoying this cold spell. After a long stretch of feeling like I’m always covered in an electric blanket and freezing everyone else to death by keeping the heat on 65 I finally got chilly enough to turn it up on 68 and rest with a blanket over me today.

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I’ve always heard that home is where the heart is. I guess I’ve always believed it too. But the past few days have made me reconsider this old saying.

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It used to be on Halloween that I loved to dress up and eat candy, but I also loved to watch a good scary movie. I’d be nervous in the dark for a while, but my nerves could handle it and for some reason it was fun to be scared. Sadly, my nerves just won’t allow me to indulge in fear anymore.

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After Mama finished telling me about some cousins of mine who hitchhiked from here to California I asked her whether or not that might be where I get my yearning for adventure from. She laughed and said it could be, as her own mama’s side of the family sometimes lived like gypsies.

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It was cold yesterday, and I like the cold. I’ve always loved to walk around in the woods when it’s cold. I guess that’s because I feel comfortable knowing that a snake isn’t going to get me.

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2018 has been a rough year for me in some ways, and it has done nothing to erase my constant questioning about whether I’ve done anything productive with my life or whether I ever will.

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My horse Penny Lane went back to Limrock last week, and this place seems sort of lonesome without her out in the pasture.

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I think the hardest part about parenting is worrying that you are not doing a good job or thinking that there are things you could be doing better.

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Shoo fruit fly, shoo! That’s what I’ve been singing, screaming, shrieking and squawking for the past few days. 

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I get homesick an awful lot. But every once in a while something will happen in my new home that reminds me of my good old days back in Limrock.

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It’s hard for me to believe that Easter is already upon us. That’s the way things go though, I am learning. One holiday ends and another soon follows and before you know it you have another year behind you.

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About a year into my foray with motherhood, I knew I had been beaten. In the months before the boy made his grand appearance being a stay at home mom seemed like a pretty easy task.

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Whether I’m 100 miles away or 15 miles away, I am always sick and lonely for my childhood home. 

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For the past several years I have given up something for Lent.

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Last week I wrote about how luxurious it made me feel to laze about in bed in the morning with my cat asleep on my feet. Little did I know that very morning would be the last I’d get with poor Clivey.

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I think everybody ought to have some sort of luxury in life. For some people that might be driving a nice car, for others it might be having their nails done or something like that.

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You know how I can tell time goes by fast? Because it seems like this time last week I was complaining that my tomatoes were rotten on the vine, and now it’s time to start ordering and sowing seeds again.

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With only a few days left until Christmas, I am still scrambling to get into the spirit. I try very hard every year, but it always comes and goes and I just can’t seem to make the holiday magic last more than a day or two, and I’m not going to lie … the rain isn’t helping things.

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Did you ever see one of those mama dogs with a fresh set of puppies and notice how she hovered over them, growling and barking at anything that she considered a threat for the first week or two?

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I love Thanksgiving, and I had a great one this year. The thing I like most about it is food, naturally. Yes, I enjoy spending time with my family and being thankful for all that I have, but those are things that I generally practice all year long.

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Over the past decade newspapers have lost a little something, and that makes me sad. Of course, it’s not just newspapers that have changed, but for now I’ll stick to talking about that. And it’s not the newspapers’ fault. It’s just the changes that time brings about.

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Last Friday night I walked into my kitchen and looked at the floor to see all of my utensils, plus a large amount of the baby’s toys strewn across the floor.

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Halloween was once one of my favorite holidays. I have always enjoyed dressing up for some reason, and I’m also quite fond of candy.