Just for Now... by Liz Flaherty

 This was first on the Window in April of 2022. Like April of this year, it was a time of changing, of sorrow and dance, of ...well, April being April. Today would be my mother's birthday--I'm pretty sure she'd like this one. I hope you won't mind reading it again. 

I've always known what the word ephemeral meant, but I've never used it--possibly because I didn't know how to spell it and I'm not completely sure of its pronunciation. It means, in case you aren't sure, "lasting a very short time."

Coming from my position on life's calendar, I think that includes everything except possibly hot flashes, bad movies, and sleepless nights. However, the ephemerality is often in retrospect, isn't it? When my kids were young, I thought the terrible twos went on for about twelve years. When it was my grandkids, it only lasted minutes--days at the most. 

The bluebird's on the clothesline this morning. He's so quick. I wish he'd stay, but he has too much going on to pose outside my office window for long. 

The forsythia bush is like its own little sunbeam in the corner of the yard where it's been the whole time we've lived here. Sunrise this morning was brightly, achingly beautiful. One of my favorite pictures ever is of the rainbow that lit the sky over the neighbors' barn. They last such a short time, don't they, and yet they last forever, too. 

If you don't like who's in the White House, his tenure lasts an agonizingly long time. If you do like him, you relax a little because you feel safer, but no sooner have you put up the footrest of the recliner than it's election year yet again. 

Loss makes you more aware of how fleeting everything is. That's when you realize that the term a good, long life is subjective. Because to the ones left behind, long wasn't nearly long enough. Loss also reminds you to be grateful. Again and again and again. For family, friends, and memories--and for that life that wasn't long enough.

Nothing is more transitory than weather, although I believe the wind and rain are 

Photo by Regine Brindle

here to stay. What we need to do, other than wait it out, is find the beauty in it. Regine Brindle does that better than most. She's one of my gratitudes today, for sharing her pictures. More than just visual, they gift the other senses as well. For the writer in me, she always makes me find words. Lacy, anyone? Fragile? Tenderness? 

My grandson took this picture, which I stole without conscience, at Kilgore Falls in Maryland. I don't know its story, but I do know looking at the photograph builds a story in the mind. 

Photo by Skyler Wilson

The objects of the photographs move instantly from how they look there. The ice blows off the trees. The waterfall continues to roar and move the wood in the picture. Ephemerality at its best. 

And maybe that's what I'll end this with. Because of photographs and memories, we get to keep those moments. Even if we are at a point that we don't actually recall them, I'm not so sure we don't always remember on some plane how they made us feel. I'm not so sure we can't still experience the joy. I hope so. 

Have a good week. Be grateful. Be nice to somebody. 

Just wondering... @LizFlaherty

We were driving to Kokomo the other day and I saw something I'd wondered about for a long, long time. It took me 15 minutes to forget what it was. 

I wonder why I don't write things down.

In the 1960s, when I was in school, the primary concern of many people (for girls) was their virtue. I mean, it was an enlightened age, so they were okay with us getting an education and all, but, you know...virtue. So I wonder why we had to wear dresses to school. Dresses were pretty, but I can't think they added to anyone's moral character. 

I wonder why lying's awful when you're the one being lied to, but not so bad if you're the one doing the lying or if the person you voted for is the one doing it. 

We live near a corner, close enough to see the stop sign at the crossroad. Some people stop, look, and go on, regardless of time of day. Many, many people roll the sign. Many others ignore it altogether--once again regardless of time of day. I always wonder if drivers who blow stop signs are the same ones who don't use turn signals.

Photo by Regine Brindle

I love cemeteries, especially the small old ones that rest fenced and quiet in fields or in churchyards. They are so quiet and so small that sometimes I won't notice one for years and years even though I might drive past it on a weekly basis. When I do notice, I pray sometimes, that the souls of those buried there have peace. Mostly, though, I wonder who they were. Who they loved. Who mourned their deaths and celebrated their lives. 

Why do people vandalize? Even as a kid, I didn't get it. (Beyond soaping windows or on one auspicious occasion helping to steal a watermelon from a patch. It was neither sweet nor ripe enough. Served us right.) Vandalizing, though, doing real damage, is done with the purpose of doing harm to someone else. I wonder why you'd want to do that. 

Bread is hardly ever on the last aisle in the grocery store, where you could put it on top of the cart and not get it smooshed. Shoppers don't get bonuses for checking themselves out. Meat never looks as good in the store as it does on the sale flyer. It always rains when I am parked in the back 40 at Kroger and don't have an umbrella. I wonder what causes those things. 

"Limited access" is only limiting to people who live near the point of contention. That seems backwards to me. I wonder why they do that.   

Do you have anything you wonder about? Not that I have any answers. Just...you know...wondering. 

Have a great week. Be nice to somebody. 

An old favorite re-released with a new cover. If you'd like a signed copy, PM me or email me at lizkflaherty @ gmail .com (no spaces). Otherwise, order links are below. Thank you for reading. 

Early McGrath doesn't want freedom from her thirty-year marriage to Nash, but when it's forced upon her, she does the only thing she knows to do - she goes home to the Ridge to reinvent herself.

Only what is someone who's spent her life taking care of other people supposed to do when no one needs her anymore? Even as the threads of her life unravel, she finds new ones - reconnecting with the church of her childhood, building the quilt shop that has been a long-time dream, and forging a new friendship with her former husband.

The definition of freedom changes when it's combined with faith, and through it all perhaps Early and Nash can find a Soft Place to Fall.

https://tinyurl.com/5at5z3eh

https://books2read.com/u/bW57yx

Just Talking... by Liz Flaherty

It was a dark and stormy night...

Well, no, it wasn't. But my mind refuses to settle in today. Even if I can think of something to write about, I don't get much further than the first sentence. Usually it's a little more original than the one above, but not always. So, let's just talk. Want to?

We went to Fort Wayne on Thursday. We did the errands we had to and then had dinner at Hall's Tavern at Coventry. I'm not a fan of cities with lots of roads and traffic in them, but I do like that restaurant a lot. 

On Tuesday, we needed milk, so I went up to Raber's at Gilead. I had so much fun walking around looking that I almost forgot the milk. It's one of my favorite places to buy cheese, so I got some of Duane's favorite kind but neglected to get myself any. So now I have to eat his. 

I'm writing a new book and having so much fun with it. It's different, and I'm using first person, which I haven't done in years. If I had a dollar for every time I've written she instead of I, there'd be no reason to finish the book--I'd already have lots of money.

I have a cover for my latest book (not the one I just mentioned), but no release date yet. It'll be soon, though, so keep an eye out for Book 3 of Second Chances, The Summer of  Sorrow and Dance. I had a lot of trouble writing this book, although I'm pleased with it now that it's done. Its title, although it fits the story, has fit me, too, in this long season since my sister passed in April. The dancing part of it, for me, is metaphorical--having to do with my two left feet--but it's real, too. I will miss her always, but there's joy in the sorrow now. That's the dance. 

Election's coming up soon. Don't forget to vote. Do I necessarily think everyone's vote counts the same? No. But if you don't vote, it can't count at all. 

Regine Brindle

Hasn't the fall foliage been spectacular this year? Regine Bridle's photographs have made sure the colors will remain in memory long after the leaves are gone. Checking Gallery 15's Facebook page to see what Sarah Luginbill's painting with pumpkins and Ron Luginbill is building with gourds is always an interesting way to spend some time. Stopping in to visit is even better. 

I hope you'll stop by Revived at 53 E. 5th St. on October 29. The store will be open all day, but Debby Myers, Joe DeRozier, and I will be signing books from 12:30 to 3:30 PM. We hope to see you there!

Have a great week! Be nice to somebody!

Just for now... by Liz Flaherty

This was first on the Window in April of 2022. Like April of this year, it was a time of changing, of sorrow and dance, of ...well, April being April. I hope you won't mind reading it again. 

I've always known what the word ephemeral meant, but I've never used it--possibly because I didn't know how to spell it and I'm not completely sure of its pronunciation. It means, in case you aren't sure, "lasting a very short time."

Coming from my position on life's calendar, I think that includes everything except possibly hot flashes, bad movies, and sleepless nights. However, the ephemerality is often in retrospect, isn't it? When my kids were young, I thought the terrible twos went on for about twelve years. When it was my grandkids, it only lasted minutes--days at the most. 

The bluebird's on the clothesline this morning. He's so quick. I wish he'd stay, but he has too much going on to pose outside my office window for long. 

The forsythia bush is like its own little sunbeam in the corner of the yard where it's been the whole time we've lived here. Sunrise this morning was brightly, achingly beautiful. One of my favorite pictures ever is of the rainbow that lit the sky over the neighbors' barn. They last such a short time, don't they, and yet they last forever, too. 

If you don't like who's in the White House, his tenure lasts an agonizingly long time. If you do like him, you relax a little because you feel safer, but no sooner have you put up the footrest of the recliner than it's election year yet again. 

Loss makes you more aware of how fleeting everything is. That's when you realize that the term a good, long life is subjective. Because to the ones left behind, long wasn't nearly long enough. Loss also reminds you to be grateful. Again and again and again. For family, friends, and memories--and for that life that wasn't long enough.

Nothing is more transitory than weather, although I believe the wind and rain are 

Photo by Regine Brindle

here to stay. What we need to do, other than wait it out, is find the beauty in it. Regine Brindle does that better than most. She's one of my gratitudes today, for sharing her pictures. More than just visual, they gift the other senses as well. For the writer in me, she always makes me find words. Lacy, anyone? Fragile? Tenderness? 

My grandson took this picture, which I stole without conscience, at Kilgore Falls in Maryland. I don't know its story, but I do know looking at the photograph builds a story in the mind. 

Photo by Skyler Wilson

The objects of the photographs move instantly from how they look there. The ice blows off the trees. The waterfall continues to roar and move the wood in the picture. Ephemerality at its best. 

And maybe that's what I'll end this with. Because of photographs and memories, we get to keep those moments. Even if we are at a point that we don't actually recall them, I'm not so sure we don't always remember on some plane how they made us feel. I'm not so sure we can't still experience the joy. I hope so. 

Have a good week. Be grateful. Be nice to somebody.