Robin Garrison Leach

It was late August, decades ago. The night wind played tag with the trees. Leaves whispered secrets to one another and the slowly darkening sky listened in with twinkling eyes.

“You have money?” My granddaughter’s eyes expanded in wonder. “Like. Money?”

I had a $20 in the back pocket of my jeans, and it seemed silly to use a debit card for one item. I pulled the bill out and waved it like a magician’s cape.

Our parents did the best they could to keep us safe and happy. They protected us with a kind of stoic warmth that didn’t always seem soft and fuzzy, but let us know we were loved.

Our parents did the best they could to keep us safe and happy. They protected us with a kind of stoic warmth that didn't always seem soft and fuzzy, but let us know we were loved.

I terrorize my stylist with pleas and threats when she leans in to cut my bangs. She knows that my happiness in life is tied to what happens in the next few minutes.

We learn things best as children, and they stay with us for a lifetime. Multiplication tables. How to tie shoes. Tell time. These are basic skills, and they’re locked in.

September in Missouri is a soft, mellow hum. Lazy puffs of wind—quiet and occasional—sigh hot-breathed words along the grassy slopes and harvested fields.

Why does life seem to get more complicated as we grow older? You would think God would have arranged things so the business of living became easier as we aged.

Lucy and Ricky stood between their respective four-poster single beds and smooched goodnight. Lucy happily slid between her sheets, all pajama-ed and poised for a good night’s sleep. Desi smiled at her lovingly, and dove into HIS bed. He yanked the covers across his shoulders and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.