Robin Garrison Leach

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.

I wouldn't want to be young again; it was a crazy ride to get to this age. But I love those flashes of childhood memories that awaken the girl I was and the wonder of experiencing life with senses not dulled by time.

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.

My grocery money usually goes toward the products in the inner aisles of the store; those busy areas full of people buying things covered in sugar, salt, and artificial flavoring.

I’ve always been clumsy. It’s hereditary; my mother told many stories of her own clumsiness. Of falling up stairs. Of tripping over cats, kids and extension cords.

My mom was a Bread Bag lady. My brain holds dozens of memories that twist-tie her practical, thrifty hands to Wonder Bread wrappers.

I’m meeting a friend for lunch or run into someone I know at a grocery store. We greet each other with the surprise of long-lost soulmates, verging on theatrical shock. My friend begins the verbal dance: