A few nights before the photos appeared online, I dreamed my college girl friends had taken a trip to the Florida Keys without me. In the dream, I wasn’t angry- just confused. I wandered through pastel houses amid salty air trying to understand how everyone had arrived somewhere without telling me. While it was perplexing to say the least, it felt all too real.

“Are you still writing?” This is the question writers, whether seasoned or just starting out, are regularly asked. With that question comes many mixed emotions or responses that range from “Thank you for asking! Thank you for seeing me and acknowledging my genuinely trying. I am still writing and I am still a writer even if you have no proof of what I’m diligently working on in the wee hours or the night or morning!” to the simple “I am…” (followed by the imposter syndrome that constantly creeps in with the standard who do you think you are attitude).

In the South, the first signs of ice send everyone to the grocery store- and sometimes to live in a hotel with their dog, their children, and a very angry cat.

I recently had the privilege of attending the funeral of one phenomenal lady. Not only was she the mother of a dear friend, but she was also the queen of the small town of Pontotoc, Mississippi. And when I tell you that being in that little southern town for just a few hours to honor her life was a breath of fresh air, I mean it. The energy of bustling Nashville, or what is now referred to as “Nashvegas” or the “New LA”, has my nerves in a frenetic state- demanding I consistently operate at “go, go, go” and “faster, slow down for traffic, faster, stop, more traffic”.  The entire day in the quaint town of Pontotoc felt as though I had been dropped right in the sequel to Steel Magnolias- where the thickest accents and sweetest iced tea flowed abundantly and everyone held main character energy.

For many years January and February have been referred to as the doldrums around our house- where everything slows after the craziness and magic of the holidays. However, as my children get older and the city I call home continues to become inundated with new people, those doldrums that once were, now only last for a couple of weeks. And how does one recognize the end of the doldrums? Simple- Nashville summer camp sign-ups.

I must admit, it’s been quite a while since I have written a Sunday Short Story. To be honest, the busyness of life, working with a start-up, and momming two small kids have taken up most of my free time. However, I have recently heard from a few lovely friends who casually, yet genuinely mentioned, “I really miss your stories.” No description will do justice to how much joy this simple statement brings me, and I sit in complete gratitude for anyone who reads (and hopefully enjoys) my writing.