Author: kmreeder

Don’t Call Me a Hillbilly

I am not a complainer. When I was simplifying the landscaping around my house last year, I shoveled at least ten tons of gravel. I never complained that, because I am a single woman, there was no obvious man to whom I could conveniently delegate that task. Instead of complaining, I shoveled. I apply the…

You. Are. So. Badass.

Remember when you were at your 25th college reunion? You were feeling a smidge sorry for yourself because your circumstances weren’t exactly what you had hoped they would be at this juncture. Someone who either worked in the White House or is a movie star or possibly both asks what you are doing in that…

Ascending (or Troughs Are for Pigs)

During an economic recession, much anticipation centers on identifying the point at which it ends. When is there sufficient growth to demonstrate that the economy is in the infant stages of an upward trajectory? No longer languishing in the trough that symbolizes the worst of a recession, we are movin’ on up a la George and…

I Am Here

My sweet friend asks, “How are you?” The question prompts me to look around for my bag of stock responses. Should I say, “moving forward” or “getting by”? A favorite is “trying to make progress.” As with many life circumstances, however, those four words don’t begin to tell the whole story. In his Letter from…

The Things I Carry

Yesterday evening I read Tim Lawrence’s blog post Everything Doesn’t Happen for a Reason. The piece was thought-provoking and there were a number of quotable segments. However, two sentences touched my heart. Their inevitability, as displayed in my own life, brought tears to my eyes and each time I stirred last night (which, these days,…

On Trees

Tree roots anchor a tree in the soil. Large roots branch out into small roots, small roots into even tinier roots and these tiny roots into hair-like shoots.  The tendrils entangle themselves in the earth, becoming inextricably attached to the fragments of soil in which they are encased. The soil cannot move.  The tree cannot…

Monday Morning Missive

It is Monday and the voice from Saturday night’s dream is still with me. I insisted that he leave by dawn, but he lingered. He is persistent. He always was. He can smell my fear and self-hatred and they are so very compelling. Like a yellow jacket at a picnic, he hovers and threatens undeterred.…