run on sentences

I was out running with Toby when my phone beeped.  I had a premonition of what the message would be and stopped, getting out a dog treat for Toby as I dug my phone out of my pocket.   “My dad died a few minutes ago” was the the message I received and unfortunately expected  from my cousin Grace. Her dad was my uncle Booie. Bernard was his real name and I had no idea why he was called Booie - no one is left that I can ask anymore.  Uncle Booie was one of my mom’s younger brothers - she had three younger brothers and now there is only one - my uncle Jab. I am not sure why he is called Jab either, Jim being his real name.  You couldn't find two finer guys than uncle Jab and uncle Boo. Me, Uncle Jab on the left, and uncle Boo on the right. When I was growing up,  Uncle Boo was always a part of my life.    He made me feel safe. He was a big guy to me as a little girl and was handsome  and strong. I always thought he looked like...

On my morning run, I frequently stop to chat with an older man named Jerry.  Seeing Jerry is a great way to start out my day as he is, at 86 years old always smiling and usually has something to say that stays with me throughout my run.  He walks with two canes, and is one of the most optimistic people I have ever “ran” into. I always stop to say hello and to ask how he is. “I am great.  And even if I wasn’t I would tell you I was, because I would just be anticipating the future”, he always says.  Then after kissing my hand, says, “The honor is mine and I hope the pleasure is all yours”. One morning after this usual greeting, He said, “There are only three things in life that people really need to be happy: “Something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward to” .   He is right.  We don’t need so many material things. I think of the words of my son who at age 8 already had a lot of wisdom: “Having something is not nearly as ...

I had a love-hate relationship with my childhood home. The empty house this past winter This was my brother's bedroom - the wall in the back is damaged because of a chimney fire.  We were happy kids. My memories of that house are mostly good - feelings of being cozy, and warm, the house heated by two wood stoves before it was cool (and not bad for the environment) to burn wood.  Wood was our only source of heat, which resulted in a few chimney fires, one of which left a hole in the floor in one of the upstairs bedrooms that was never repaired.  Burning wood also kept us kid busy in the summer and fall, chopping wood and then piling it in the shed where the growing piles gave my dad a sense of happiness and providing for his family. On school mornings, I woke up to the sound of my dad crinkling newspaper and the squeaking of the handle on the stove door as he threw in kindling to start the fire.  Then, the sizzling of snow on the big block of wo...