Have you ever driven a road so often that you barely notice what's around you anymore? That's sort of the point I'm reaching on the path to and from school. I drive my daughter in each morning, and depending on traffic, it takes about thirty-five minutes. But this is my second year of doing so, and a lot of it doesn't even get noticed now.
​But one field in particular catches our attention pretty much every day.

I don't know about you, but our house has been plagued by germs lately. That's right. The big evil C word finally caught us after two years of avoiding it.
Needless to say, there's been much handwashing and cleaning going on. And not very much kissing.
Nope. My husband and I learned long ago that kissing while one or the other of us is sick is not a good idea. Not if we want us both to be well sooner rather than later.

Pride is a big problem.
Especially in the United States. For some reason, we all think we can do it ourselves.
And it starts early. Parents are often told by their toddlers, "No! I do it!" Doesn't matter that their fingers can't manage the buttons or snaps or whatever it is they're trying to accomplish. They want the bragging rights and sense of accomplishment.
​But sometimes, we can't do it by ourselves.

For years and years, this house has bee what I considered "home."
I only ever lived there for a few months when very small, but my grandparents lived there over sixty years. We lost my grandfather almost nine years ago. And my grandmother passed on about four years ago. And this last year, the house sold.
We no longer have any connection to that brick structure my grandfather put so much work and love into. It will never again host our family for get-togethers. It won't give us fun times on the swingset in the back or fresh veggies from the garden. It belongs to someone else now.