Hearts in Atlantis
Don’t we look like something straight off Carnaby Street, London? I’m the one in the tunic with bare feet. My sister is in the hot pants. The picture must have been taken about 1968--the year of the Tet offensive in Viet Nam, the Chicago riots, and assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. My favorite singing group was Peter, Paul and Mary (not the Beatles.)
Hearts in Atlantis was my first Stephen King book other than On Writing (a wonderful memoir combined with writing advice.)
A prayer for Haiti
I acknowledge that you are God. You didn’t stop being God when the sea roared and the mountains of Haiti fell into the sea. You know each person who lies buried beneath that rubble, and you care about them even more than the frantic family members who are still searching for them. We are horrified by the situation; we are overwhelmed by the magnitude of the logistics needed to bring help; we are heartbroken by the hunger and pain, especially of helpless children. Your heart breaks for them too, but you are not overwhelmed.
I called him ‘Brat’ instead of Brad, mainly because that was the way big sisters were expected to think of a brother seven years younger. The only quarrel I remember was once when I was left to babysit and he refused to ‘obey’ me. Can’t say that I blame him. The bedrooms were on the lower level in our house, and the first time I returned from college he came pounding up the stairs to throw his arms around me. The next time I came home I looked forward to the same enthusiastic welcome, but he was outside shooting baskets with the guys and all I got was a curt “Hi.”
Slides of Our Lives
My husband received a little machine for Christmas to convert slides to digital format. After all, he is the one who has been complaining about the stack of carousel boxes in the closet. (Okay, they were on his side, so he had a right.) He has set a goal of fifty slides a night. My job is to peruse them and tell him what he doesn’t need to bother with, and then to label and organize the digital files into albums in my computer. My face-recognition software sometimes confuses my children with my grandchildren or me with one of my daughters. I guess there must be a family resemblance.
LeAnne Hardy has lived in six countries on four continents. Her books come out of her cross-cultural experiences and her passion to use story to convey spiritual truths in a form that will permeate lives.
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