If It Looks Too Good To Be True . . .
Lisa Thomas • October 18, 2017
So, just out of curiosity, have any of you ever Googled “cremation providers in _____________” where the blank is your city and state of residence? If you haven’t, why don’t you take a minute and do that now? Go ahead. I’ll wait . . .
Carl Jeter had walked out on the deck of his house to survey the flood waters of the Guadalupe River—and to be certain the level was no longer rising.
It was bedtime in the Guinn household and six-year-old Malcolm had decided tonight was the night to declare his independence.
They had been married almost 25 years when Death suddenly took him. Twenty-five years of traveling around the country with his work. Twenty-five years of adventures and building their family and finally settling into a place they believed they could call their forever home.
It was quietly hiding in the chaos that was once a well-organized, barn-shaped workshop/storage building, one now filled with all the things no one needed but with which they couldn’t bring themselves to part.
Do you remember when new vehicles didn’t come with on-board navigation systems and if you wanted one you had to buy something like a Garmin or a Magellan or some other brand that would talk you through your trip?
Recently I found myself playing a rousing game of “Chutes and Ladders” with my grandson and his mom (my daughter)—a game I soon realized I was destined to lose.
Facebook is like the double-edged sword of social media. On the one hand, it can be the spreader of good news . . . But it also serves as the bearer of all that is bad.
I don’t actually know how Facebook decides what I like or what topics might be of interest. It’s understood there is some mysterious algorithm quietly running in the background . . .
With her head bent low and her eyes laser-focused on the sidewalk before her, she slowly made her way around the park. Step by step, one foot in front of the other.
It was dark outside when the phone rang; a glance at the clock revealed the day was still in its infancy, which explained why the funeral director’s brain did not want to engage. Years of experience prevailed however, and he answered the call, finding on the other end of the line a hospice nurse requesting their services for a death that had occurred in a home.
