John got home Sunday night too late for supper. I walked into the kitchen to see him smearing peanut butter on a few crackers I had bought at a fancy food shop. “What are you doing?” I said. “I just wanted a snack," he said. “But I was saving those.” “Oh, sorry. For what?” “To eat,” I said. “I AM eating them.” “Later.” I turned my head toward a misshapen bowl on the counter. “When I serve them in this cute piece of pottery I bought.”  He shoved a cracker in his mouth and walked out of the room.  I knew it sounded silly even before I breathed the words. There were enough crackers to have now and later. Even if he ate them all, who cares? There are other crackers. Anyone else do this? We tuck away the decorative napkins, the best-fitting bra, the good beer, and move the homemade pound cake to the back of the freezer because we have in our minds that this thing is too valuable to be enjoyed now. We must wait until the right time that never comes. The next thing we know, the poun...

When I worked in adult literacy, I realized quickly that a variety of reasons brought these students to our door. They changed schools one time too many, had no support at home, worked to support the family, had an undiagnosed learning disability...the list goes on. As children they often endured a combination of challenges, but I never heard "I just didn't want to learn."  As part of our intake process, we asked about their experience with traditional education, which would help us help them learn as adults. Even though most of our students had left school before graduating, they could be successful by building on any positive past experience. They also needed help managing feelings of fear and apprehension, which tugged at most of them. A common question was, "Did you have a favorite teacher?" None of the students I ever talked to could name one.  Although school wasn't always wonderful and I had my share of teachers I didn’t care for, school was still a p...

Last August we moved to a cute little ranch with a pretty yard. We had to cram twenty years of house into one with much less storage space. Although I have been interested in the concept of minimalism for a few years, I seriously scaled down my junk footprint last summer. (I said I reduced it; I did not eliminate it. I’m not an animal.)  That meant getting rid of lots of stuff, whether or not it held an emotional connection or was of practical use. “You can’t keep it all,” I reminded myself. I separated items into boxes and trash bags bound for a charity or the dumpster. I tossed in books, kitchen tools, and clothes and—with a self-righteous turn of my head—did not look back. A decluttered house contributes to a decluttered life, and I desperately need that.  But as proud as I was to chunk, fling, and heave, I wrestled with my attachment to things even though I know they break, take up space, and lose their shine over time. And what about when you realize you discarded somethi...

“And who does HE belong to?” Aunt Edith said, interrupting Uncle Earl’s story about another WWII veteran who recently moved in two doors down. Aunt Edith and Mama We watched her skinny arm reach out from the corner of the room and extend in John’s direction. “He’s mine,” I smiled. “He’s my husband.”  She turned her gaze toward my mother. “And do we like him?” she said in that beautiful southern accent I always wish I’d inherited, though her throat needed clearing. Mama smiled back and turned to John, “oh, we do, we do.” “Well, then,” Edith said, plain as a butter knife. She returned her arm to her lap and smiled closemouthed at her husband of almost seventy years as if to say, “continue.” He did while Mama and I put out lunch.  “And who does HE belong to?” Aunt Edith said five minutes later, the arm again accusing John of something only Edith knew. “Oh, he’s still mine,” I said, shoving a hushpuppy in my mouth. This line of questioning continued throughout the afternoon. She k...

“I need to check on the fort,” L said a few weeks ago as I unbuckled him from the car seat. “Is it finished?” asked his brother, hopping down from the car. “It’s mostly finished,” I said. “ We still need to accessorize. Let’s go take a look.” Through pine needles, we walked back to the edge of the woods and climbed the ladder to what is basically a six-foot-high, freestanding deck. We take in the 360 degree view that includes a neighbor’s pond, which we didn’t know existed until now. I was excited for them to see it, not only because of the time and expense that had been put into it, but because I had already imagined the games and campouts soon to follow on the platform. (A tent is one of the accessories on our list.) “This is nice,” L said, running to each corner for a look. “Paw-Paw did a good job.”  “He did,” I said, my heart filling up. “That’s so nice of you to say. You should tell him that.” “But we need cup holders,” T interrupted and stretched up onto his tiptoes to see a...

We enjoyed a beautiful Mother’s Day this year; I hope you did. Literally beautiful because we celebrated many of the moms in the family in the perfect place: outside. The weather was mild and the breeze was light, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle—one of my favorite things. It was glorious, ya’ll.  Last year John and I ate grits and eggs out of to-go boxes with his parents in their front yard, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m still basking in the glow of Sunday.  The moms hauled in the goods too: gift cards, flowers, jewelry, cards—funny and sweet. I decided to join in on the gift-giving by making homemade decorated cookies as a take-home treat for the moms. The thought was a good one, but the execution was weak. (You know you have a mess when no amount of glitter can fix it.)  Then I remembered: You know how mothers often receive (usually handmade) gifts that are the worst, but moms have to act like they’re the best? I simply gave these ladies another opportuni...

National Public Radio just turned 50. I listen locally on WFAE in Charlotte where one of my favorite writers Tommy Tomlinson contributes. (Check out his podcast, Southbound , if you’re into that kind of thing.) The publicity surrounding NPR’s anniversary is full of anecdotes about how they made something from nothing. All while covering the news, which included the country’s largest antiwar protest taking place outside their door. (If you haven’t done the math yet, this was 1971.) NPR staff endured unknowns, mishaps, and flubs. Susan Stamberg, the first anchor of All Things Considered , tried to lower her voice like a man’s, which didn’t quite work. Considering their chaotic first day, show director Linda Wertheimer didn’t see much hope for NPR. She said it “was just going to be beyond awful.” When you’re in the middle of pandemonium, it’s hard to see your way out. But here they are fifty years later, chuckling about how far they’ve come. We can’t judge something on the first day...

Hello, friends. No long post this week as I’m diving into my new job—and trying to do so with gusto and gratitude.  Here are a few things in my toolbox today: Eucalyptus and green mandarin essential oils in the diffuser. WNCW streaming through Alexa. Iced tea (no sugar). Dove dark chocolate (yes, Sugar). Occasional peeks out my “office” window. What’s getting you through the week?

Hans Christian Andersen would have been 216 years old this month. Remember him? He wrote “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” “The Ugly Duckling,” and “The Princess and the Pea”—a favorite of mine as a child. In honor of his birthday, I re-read “The Princess and the Pea.” I have to say I was underwhelmed and am struggling to remember what drew me to the story in the first place. I must have read or seen some adaptation, like this one . In Andersen’s original story, the prince wanted to marry a princess. (Nothing new there.) During his travels he found several princesses, all with deal-breaking attributes. One stormy night back home a young, waterlogged girl, claiming to be a princess, knocked on the door. She didn’t look like a princess, so the queen tested her nobility by placing a single pea under her bed—a stack of twenty mattresses. The next morning the princess came down to breakfast, less than rested. She complained that she hadn’t slept and had been bruised by something under the bed....

Last Saturday was a beautiful day for a wedding, a virtual one. A dear friend married the sweetest fella on the banks of the Chesapeake. The setting was perfect, pandemic or not. The handsome groom stood next to his gorgeous bride as they looked out over the water. A handful of family members sat behind them as they made the ultimate commitment to each other, getting a fresh start as a married couple. The minister’s words were encouraging and hopeful, as they should be. As someone who has been married for a while, I appreciated his words about vulnerability, encouragement, and grace. I needed reminding. He didn’t only speak to the betrothed, he spoke to all of us and handed out loving marching orders on how to lift up this young couple. I’m paraphrasing here, but he directed us to give them space and grace as they get to know each other. At first that struck me as odd. Shouldn’t they know each other before getting married? Well, yes and no.  Yes, you should know someone well enoug...

She’d tell you how to make chicken casserole but "forget" to mention the chicken.  That’s how I described my mother. At her funeral. I said nice things about her too, of course, but this brought the most smiles to the pews. We all knew the woman was stingy with a recipe.  When I’d ask her how to make a favorite dish she’d say, “I’ll make it for you.” I felt bold once and replied, “When you’re dead and gone, don’t you want us to make your recipes and lovingly think about you?” She simply smiled, unfazed and unpersuaded.  A few years later when she had terminal cancer and knew the end was coming sooner than later, I summoned her to my kitchen with all the makings of a roast. Finally, I thought, I have her cornered; she’ll have to come clean. As I seared the beef in my grandmother’s cast-iron skillet, Mama scanned the back of the shameful seasoning packet I’d bought in desperation. Like a purr she said, “I think this is how I do it.” Lies. That day was not the first time I h...

When I shared low-tech documentation tips with you last month, I left out the to be continued part.  "Tips and tricks" can be overwhelming. There's so much information out there that it can be hard to know which ones to apply or where to even start. It's easy to become paralyzed and do nothing. (I may or may not be speaking from experience.)  So here are a few more  specific actions you can take to improve the accuracy and quality of anything you write. Try one or all and see what might work for you. 1. Start a Style Sheet  (Stick with me here.) A style guide is a comprehensive set of documentation rules. It can cover hyphenation rules, when to spell out numbers (vs. using numerals), and many other usage guidelines. Your organization might maintain their own in-house style guide or it may adopt one that's already out there (e.g., Chicago Manual of Style). A style guide helps ensure consistency in usage as well as brand and voice, depending on the organization. ...

I promised a friend I wouldn’t write anything nature-related this week, but…spring! You know, that time of year when you wear a T-shirt one day and three layers the next. Actually, that’s much of the year here in North Carolina. Don’t tell me you forgot about last fall when you packed away your shorts and flip flops only to find yourself—two weeks later—sweating into your pumpkin spice latte. Last week did me in, meteorologically speaking, between Daylight Saving Time starting to schools being closed for possible tornados to tucking hand warmers into my pockets for a T-ball game. I’m ready for March to scoot out like a lamb. Look out your window—even the plants are confused. Everything is blooming. We haven’t lived all four seasons in this house yet, so we were excited to see daffodils pop up last week, seemingly out of nowhere. Although I loved the view from my window, I felt the urge to knock on it and holler “no, don’t do that. It’s not safe for you yet!” They probably wouldn’t list...

Have you heard of forest bathing? It’s a new-to-me type of therapy in the world of wellness where you cleanse your mind and spirit—among the trees. I’m for that. I’ve always been drawn to the woods and, growing up, we played in them almost daily. It was the seventies, though, and we didn’t know we were ahead of our time--we were just having fun.  On hot, summer days we’d ride our bikes up and into the tall pines; the air was 20 degrees cooler under the canopy. There was no doorway, but it felt as if we’d entered a different world. We raced along the dirt trails, played hide-and-go-seek, and scared ourselves. We checked for evidence of a recent party where our older brothers and sisters sometimes gathered around a campfire to sneak a smoke and pass a bottle of Boone’s Farm.  Years ago, before the land was clear-cut for a housing development, I took one last walk. The paths were faint and overgrown; the trees had thinned out. What seemed so vast and mysterious to me as a child ...

I hugged my mother-in-law yesterday. It had been three weeks since her second vaccination. It was quick like they said to do. I held my breath. "Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday," I whispered through my mask. The words caught in my throat. "Yes," she laughed, through hers. I'm not really a hugger, but I have to say I've missed them. As of last year, though, a hug could kill you. Pre-2020, that statement would've gotten eye rolls. Now, though, yes, it actually can. Last Easter we passed containers of food to my in-laws through their front door, refusing the invitation to come inside. For Mother's Day we ate takeout grits and eggs on tailgate chairs in their front yard. It was inconvenient but novel. We'll get through this, we thought. We felt we were doing the right thing and took comfort in that. Our motto became WWFD (What Would Fauci Do) . But we're human and it got old. We weren't always perfect with the precautions...

Technical writers are professional communicators. It’s their job to figure out what should be communicated to your audience and how. The audience could be your customers, clients, users, or staff. The final product could be a procedure, manual, website, or training video script. If you want to round out your team with a technical writer, understanding what a writer can and cannot do for your organization can help align expectations and reduce the chance of buyer’s remorse. (Although they may desperately want to), don't ask a tech writer to  Fix a broken process.  Capturing a process in writing (or other media) doesn’t necessarily make it a good process. The act of documenting, though, will often point to holes in the process, identifying areas for improvement. Let’s say a critical step in the receiving procedure is to compare shipping documents with the items received. Basic stuff. The writer will be sure to include that step since it’s been identified as an important one. Ex...