Safe Refuge
My first car was a secondhand mini panel van. My dad spent hours fixing it, including the final touch of painting the hood a pretty powder blue. He didn’t want me driving the car yet, but I decided to take it for a quick spin. Dad hadn’t completely refastened the hood, and as the car picked up speed, it blew off and I drove over it! I couldn’t believe it—the hood of my beautiful “new” car was ruined. I tried to bump out the dents myself, but finally—tearfully—told my dad. He hugged me, said it would be okay, and we both worked on getting the dents out of the hood and respraying it.
writer's block
Writer’s block will wear you out. During a recent bout with it, everything I wrote ended with the electronic equivalent of throwing a crumpled sheet of paper into the ol’ “circular file” (trash can). Any hint of an idea died on the page before I could finish the first paragraph. My brain swam in circles every time my fingers touched…
