Random Connect Points:
Reba's Stories

The world is divided into two types of people. One isn’t better than the other; they are just different. There are “dog people,” and there are people who aren’t “dog people.” I’m not saying these “not dog people” hate dogs; they may be cat people or parrot people or gerbil people, or they may just be indifferent to dogs…they just aren’t “dog people.” “Dog people” get each other. We have a common appreciation of the comfort that comes from hearing a dog’s “tap tap tap” as he walks through the house on the hardwood floors. We “dog people” understand that feeling of pure joy when the dog welcomes us back the same way regardless of whether we left to put out the trash or went to Europe for a week. We “dog people” often know the neighbor’s dog’s name without knowing their “person’s” name. We “dog people” don’t mind the family of fuzz bunnies living under the bed from the dog’s shedding each spring. So when one of my “dog people” friends loses a beloved canine, I get it. One of my cl

Today I travelled through the state of borrowed trouble. It's really easy to get there and almost always hard to find my way home.  As usual when I go to the state of borrowed trouble, I didn't set out to end up there today. I always take baggage I should have shed years ago. Today's journey through the state of borrowed trouble led me down many roads I should have just avoided...questioning lane, anxiety avenue, the drill is always the same. But I couldn't shake the feeling that if I just took a quick trip I'd allow myself to think the worst about the situation in question then move on.  Unfortunately when I got there I just kept following one road after another. Before I knew it, I'd let this quick trip turned into a wasted afternoon.

My mother recently gave me (or more accurately threatened me she would trash if I didnt take) several boxes of old letters and photos that were in her attic. In the box, I found a number of letters from friends I had made during my one year at Camp Pinnacle following the seventh grade. Over the years, I often wondered what happened to the five or six pen pal friends I kind of lost track of once we hit high school. I found a couple of letters in this box from one of these friends, Frances from Beaufort, and thought about googling her name to see where she landed in life...but then went on to other things and forgot about it. Fast forward a month or so, I was scrolling through Facebook and saw the daughter of a high school friend in Bluffton got married...and there was a post from my old friend Frances congratulating this mother of the bride. I sent Frances a quick Facebook message reminding her about Pinnacle not knowing if she would even remember me. Her quick response back said sh

A blog, I thought. Hmmm. Would anybody really be interested in my sporadic writing projects, my perpetual lists or my thoughts about the random connections I keep discovering just about every day? I've always got words shooting out of the ends of my fingers, and this blog is my attempt to put some order to the random connect points that result when my fingers hit the keyboard. Maybe a blog will give me the discipline I don't have to practice the mandolin daily or get up earlier in the morning. Maybe a blog will help me be a better writer and editor. Or maybe a blog will just let me do what I love ... writing rambling, sometimes connected, ideas. I've also posted some writings that inspired me to go on and start a place to put this stuff. Look to the left to see the links. Some are work related; others are just fun things I've written. Like many things in life, the blog may be a little messy in places, so just ignore that like you would a pile of clothes on the floor.