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Memories of Dad
He was born in Virginia during a time of financial difficulty in the United States. Lloyd Harden Garretson, July 1, 1924. In my opinion, the world became a better place upon his arrival. As a youth, he had two paper routes each day to help his family survive — one before school and one after. With his bicycle, he faithfully rode through the hills of Roanoke delivering the daily news without complaint. He was strong, wiry and persistent. Later, he worked in a custom furniture shop, where he learned the craft and discovered he had an almost uncanny ability to recognize fine wood. He remained a master woodworker throughout his…
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The Mirror Holds
There are moments in life when the soul may shatter like glass—fractured by pain, yet somehow still hold together. I’m not a doctor, so my words aren’t clinical; they’re simply the observations of someone who has walked a road of resiliency and healing. Fragments This isn’t about judgment. It’s about honoring those who, though wounded, manage to pull themselves out of such environments and begin rebuilding. That journey is remarkable—filled with hope, setbacks, and occasionally—triggers. For me, experiencing repeated patterns of dishonesty, manipulation, and belittling brought me to the brink. Over time, such things wear a person down. I share this not to spotlight myself, but to encourage others who…
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Raindrop Rhythm
Rain flows from the sky – in steady streams,tumbling down the street. I watch,marveling at the sheer magnitude. Listening to the roar. The weight in the cloudsbreaking free, as nourishing waterfor Mother Earth. Simple raindrops…infinitely complex. Nitrogen in lightning,flashing within an iron sky. The dancebetween the clouds. Air that smellsclean and damp. The wind is quiet just now –leaves on treesseeming to welcome the outpouring. A gift to be treasured – as surely as the sun risingon a given morning. Rain is welcome –on my faceand in my heart. Flow over methis morning. —————— Sometimes the sky speaks in water, and the heart can only answer in rhythm. – RG
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Who Knew?
I am, by nature, a farm girl. I prefer the language of trees, of wind in the branches, the smell of earth awakening after winter and open sky. Thankfully, I grew up on an 80-acre farm where that love was stamped into my heart and soul. The 100+ year-old house was situated on a hill that overlooked a pasture and hayfield to the west, a sprawling garden with a few fruit trees dotted around it to the east – and to the south there was an open field that wandered into the woods. The woods was a visual evolution of seasons. It would be easy to miss if one wasn’t…
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2900
Today is a milestone of sorts. I’m still here. Still working, writing, smiling – breathing in and out, y’know? There are times in one’s life that are pivotal. 2,900 days ago, I had surgery to remove a ridiculously large cyst. So, today I’m taking time to: Thank God for His incredible gift of life. Thank friends for their love, support and encouragement through all of these days. Thank family (and some of you are family even if we don’t share DNA!) for being exactly who you are. Realize how blessed I am – and I still have more runway. – Love, Rose
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The Eye of the Beholder
It was Sunday morning, and the sun had yet to make an appearance. As I stepped outside, the coyotes were celebrating just a little too near for my peace of mind, so I went back inside to get some coffee. A couple minutes later, I headed back out and saw the first hints of red washing on the horizon line. The bluff I was standing on is on our property at slightly over 1,100 feet up. The Brazos River is below, as well as a ranch with pasturelands that are verdant after several days of rain. At that moment, they were still cloaked in the final remains of the night.…
