Every Tuesday, Scott and I put on our wedding rings like armor. It’s easier than explaining, “We don’t usually wear them; they fall off. We won’t resize them. My grandmother touched them.” We dress in slacks and button down shirts. I strap on my ten dollar gold watch and poke through my golden heart earrings. He shaves as we drive Caroline to school.
Then he, Sam and I, jump on the highway for the hour-long commute to therapy. It’s exhausting.
We’re working with a graduate student clinic in Auburn. We’re very lucky to be there. The students, completing their practicums under licensed psychologists, have access to the newest theories, the things that might help Sam.… Read the rest
I had never seen an electrical storm until I moved down South. Growing up in Ohio, we had thunder, rain, and even tornadoes.Nasty tornadoes. I had seen green skies and taken refuge in the bathtub. When I was very small, lightning shot into the window of our farmhouse past
my metal high chair to strike the telephone and arc across the room and blast the refrigerator. But none of those things hold a candle to the weather I’ve experienced down here.
Of course, it helps that I was extremely small when the lightning nearly hit me. I only remember the sound it made on contact with the phone.… Read the rest