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The Strange Power
“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” ― Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses Yesterday marked six months to the day that our beloved dog, Bonnie, died in her sleep. I don’t ponder it as much as I once did, but each time I remember the moment that I realized Bonnie was gone, I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach. The sense of her being stolen from us is as raw and punishing as it was half a year ago. My grief for my dog caught me by surprise. I never expected to mourn an animal the way I did Bonnie.…
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Vital Glory
Driving through my beloved South, I have often seen empty homes and gas stations and barns and restaurants completely covered by kudzu. Even in wintertime, the leaves go brown but they remain intact on the knotty vines. Through the years, my reaction to these scenes has been one of sadness, especially for the little abandoned businesses. I have always thought, “That was once someone’s dream. And now it’s ruined, and where are the owners now?” Lately, though, my thinking has changed. These failed enterprises are scars. That is, they are part of the map of battles of someone’s life, marking the territory of hope and ambition and dreams and focused…