Laura Hedgecock

Sep 282015
Card catalog illustrates vagaries of memories

The vagaries of memory: we think of it acting like a card catalog, but, sadly, it’s not.

The vagaries of memories are well-documented, and sometimes disconcerting. When we remember an odd fact or experience, sometimes researching memory recall can help you understand the situation.

Yesterday, riding in the car with my husband, I observed a young man waiting for the pedestrian light. His profile sparked a memory out of nowhere. “That looks like Terry Michelakis*,” I told my husband. Hubby gave me his famed single raised eyebrow, a feat that only our dog can mimic, implying I would need to fill him in on the inner workings of my brain for that comment to make sense. As I explained that Terry was a kid with whom I grew up and about whom I hadn’t thought about him in at least 30 years, the eyebrow lowered, but hubby still looked a little bewildered.

If he was impressed by my recall of a childhood classmate’s full name, the next conversation served to un-impress him. I was trying to explain to him my latest effort to MacGyver a repair around the house instead of calling a repairperson, who, as a sort, generally want to be paid—just for showing up. The explanation would probably bore you to tears, but it involves the word funnel. Which I just could not, for the life of me, come up with. So instead of naming the object, I had to say, “I used one of those things we have in the kitchen, you know, (eyebrow up, again) that are kind of cone shaped, and you use them when you want to pour something from a container with a large opening to a bottle with a small opening.

“You mean a funnel?”

“Yes. Clearly I do.”

Somehow, I expect a husband of 25 years to do a better job of intuiting the things I want to say, so I won’t have to struggle so much to spit them out. Irrational, I know, but there it is.

Thinking back on the situation, I’m still a little baffled. Why did I think of Terry Michelakis? We attended the same schools, but were never close. How could I come up with his whole name?

The visual cue doesn’t count. I had one for a funnel too. I was visualizing the funneling process.

And it’s not my word reversal problem, where I’ll occasionally substitute another noun for the one I meant to say, usually not noticing the substitution until I see blank looks on people’s faces. (Hey, at least they’re listening.)

Looking up the phenomenon of not being able to remember a word–thanks Google, my friend—I find an article that makes my “tip-of-the-tongue lapse” even more of a head-scratcher. Apparently, I’m less likely than the average American to have these moments. According to Ewen Callaway at the New Scientist, such tip-of-the-tongue lapses are more likely to occur to mono-linguists—people who only speak one language. Furthermore, rarity should play a role in one’s inability to recall. In other words, uncommon words are normally more difficult to remember than common ones. Since I use “funnel” (the word and object) on a semi-regular basis and don’t think I’ve uttered Terry Michelakis since 1979, Mr. Callaway’s article actually causes me more concern.

Further research results in further befuddlement. According to Paul King, a neuroscientist at the Redwood Center for Theoretical Neuroscience, tip-of-the-tongue phenomena are often “elicited by proper names.”

My brain did the opposite of what scientists might expect it to do. A part of me isn’t surprise.

The best explanation, perhaps, is that my brain is a hot mess for which normal norms don’t apply. Furthermore, it’s entirely possible that all the cells of my cerebral cortex were still high-fiving earch other after my I came out with Terry Michelakis’ name, and were thus too busy to produce the word “funnel.”

I’m going with that one.

I’m also going to continue and read and research, although I admit this time, I came up short.

Whatever the vagaries of memory are, they—and our brains—are pretty incredible.

*My childhood friend’s name has been changed, just in case he’s not cool with me blogging about him. :)

Sep 212015
Cemetery photo with saying representing a fata morgana

The stories of the past aren’t a fata morgana, they’re just waiting for you to give them voice.

Cemeteries don’t deserve their spooky reputation. Sure, they’re full of dead people (cue my father-in-law’s obligatory joke about “people just dying to get in there”), but they’re more than that.

They are the final resting place of our grief, a place where we can go and pay respects, one of the places where we can grope for some sort of continued connection to loved ones. They’re that and more.

Cemeteries are places where long-forgotten stories intermingle.

Odd as it makes me—and admittedly, it probably registers low on all the things that make me odd—I enjoy the cemetery where my parents are buried. I have from the summer they died. Though I found no connection or consolation from visiting their graves, I took an immediate liking to their neighbors.

Oakwood is a place where joggers jog and dog walkers tarry. It’s a diverse community of those who died too young, brave veterans—some harkening back to the civil war, elderly widows reunited with the loves of their lives, and plots of posthumous family reunions. The stories float around—just beyond my grasp, a fata morgana of stories of life journeys.

My friend John Kingston introduced me to the concept of fata morgana. It’s a superior mirage; the shimmering band of light that you often see on the horizon, particularly in warm weather. It’s an unreachable apparition, a seemingly apt metaphor for the stories of the past.

However, here in Michigan, fata morganas on roadways pale in comparison to their appearance in other parts of the world. For instance, in the Straits of Messina, between Sicily and mainland Italy, fata morganas are known for the show they put on, refracting light into castles, cliffs, and ships.

A fata morgana

A fata morgana at sea

The weather doctor, Keith C. Heidorn, explains the phenomenon: “In a Fata Morgana mirage, distant objects and features at the horizon appear as spikes, turrets or towers, objects with great vertical exaggeration rising from the surface… Literally, Fata Morgana means the Fairy Morgana, a reference to the English legends of King Arthur’s enchanted sister Morgana, who dwelled in a crystal castle beneath the sea.”

Fata Morgana of Stories

Perhaps the comparison is backward. In other words, perhaps it’s the fata morgana that’s like those stories of the past, waiting to be told. They appear—a visual prompt, appealing to the imagination. They hover, just out of reach, just out of comprehension, begging to be conjured into narrative.

A fata morgana is made of refracted light, dissipating upon approach.

The stories we seek don’t dematerialize. In fact, the opposite is true.

The stories intermingling in cemeteries (as well as in shoeboxes, ignored journals, and that list of well-intentioned things we plan to get around to), don’t scatter and lose definition as we approach. The details of the life, if only the start and finish, stay in focus. And, with creativity and care, the focus sharpens, the longer we look. They wait, patiently through the ages, for our research and imagination to bring them to life.

Stories often hang out in the netherworld, a world not unlike the proverbial tip of the tongue. They’re just waiting for someone to give them voice.

Your Turn:

It doesn’t take much fairy magic to transform those castles in the air into beautiful family tales. Turn a fata morgana or two into a narrative that will continue to connect your family to their past and their heritage.

Sep 182015
Is technology your friend illustrated by iphone

A missing phone (Tell me if you’ve seen her!) can make you wonder. Is technology your friend or your despot?

Is technology your friend or your despot, the device that’s trying to rule the household, if not your entire life? Well, it probably depends on what you mean by friend. If you like bossy friends, you’re in luck.

My missing iPhone, or better stated, the fact that it is missing, has made me wonder about the technology in my life. My phone has been hanging out “near 28555 Orchard Lake Rd” for the last 48 hours, according my to findmyphone app. Which is great information, as far as it goes.

That address is a large office building, one in which no one has turned a phone in to a receptionist, stashed it in the potted plants (I don’t know why it occurred to me to look there), left it in the bathrooms (where I didn’t go), or placed it in any prominent place.

Is Findmyphone technology your friend? Absolutely. There’s no question that it helped narrow down the number of places I needed to look for my phone.

However, like a lot of friends, it’s not perfect. Wandering the halls calling the phone and pinging it to make sounds with three people listening, left us clueless to where in this building the little devil-phone is hiding.

Findmyphone (for iPhone) is also a despot. Having lost an iPhone, I need to log in to Apple’s iCloud to use the app. Since my iPhone is missing, it follows that I have to do it with another device. Having fallen for AT&T’s get a tablet free for renewing your contract ruse (another story), I have another mobile device. But AT&T was giving away an Android device, and iCloud, refuses to play nicely—or otherwise—with Androids. It flatly refuses to let me log in from my alternate device’s “unsupported browser,” Google Chrome. Which means to use the app, I have to recruit a friend with an iPhone to meet me at the office building. That turned out to be inconvenient as well, because she thought we were meeting at her house, and having no phone, I waited at the building for a half an hour, before finding her watching Master Chef competitions in her living room.

The app also has an annoying sense of self-accomplishment. Unbeknownst to me, every time I pinged my phone through the app, I received an email. When I got home, dejected and perplexed, it toyed with my emotions with a “Your phone has been found” email. Liar. It located the building where the phone apparently still sits, now down to 13% battery, yet somehow unfindable.

Is Technology Your Friend or your despot? Word Choices

If people talked to us the way our devices do, we’d quickly unfriend them.

Yet real people program these devices. Which makes me wonder if some of these developers should attend an etiquette class. For instance, I expect better social skills from my husband’s Nook. A bookseller developed it, so subtlety shouldn’t be so hard to come by. Instead of the ultimatum: “Plug in your device or it will turn off.” It seems like a little tact could be programmed in. “Your device’s battery is so critically low that it will turn off if you don’t plug it in.” Was that so hard?

When it comes to despots, Microsoft Windows updates take my number one spot. They recommend auto-updates, so as you shut down your laptop getting ready to board a flight, it can decree, “Do not turn off your computer. Installing critical updates.” What about my critical (non-refundable) flight? Should I just tell the other 200 passengers to hold up a sec, because Microsoft has decided, with no consultation whatsoever with me, owner of said laptop, to update in that very moment?

Ovens get honorable mention on my despot list, falling into the sub-category of passive-aggressive despots. If you lean up against my mother-in-law’s (now my sister-in-law’s, but that’s not germane to the story) “intelligent” oven while waiting for something to finish baking, it decides your distributed weight is equivalent to the pointed touch of a fingertip on the off button. Turkey delayed. Thanksgiving Dinner delayed.

Or my own oven, which has been wanting a repair-person to come visit for a while now. I think it’s frustrated that I responded to it cooking things about 75 degrees warmer than the digital input, (again, on Thanksgiving Day), by going to Target and buying a $2.50 oven thermometer and setting the desired temp roughly 75 degrees lower. (Works, mostly. Plus, I’m not called on to provide emergency baked goods as much since I’ve broadcast the unpredictability of the oven.) Last weekend, it started exacting its revenge. It just turns itself on for 5 to 10 minutes now and again.

My son suggested I store a batch of unbaked brownies in the oven so I can smell when the oven is trying to take over the planet and flip the circuit breaker switch before the terminators have to show up. I’m wondering why they don’t stress flipping the circuit breaker as a first line of defense at the engineering school he’s attending.

Your Turn

How’s your relationship with your devices. Is technology your friend or your despot?

Sep 142015
Telling your own story illustrated by handwritten journal

Do you have to decide between telling your own story and telling family stories? I think not.

Deciding whether to tell your personal memories versus family stories is the memoirist’s version of “Who ya gonna call?” (Cue Ghostbusters music in the background.)

Perhaps the question is wrong. You don’t have to decide between telling your own story versus telling family—or even ancestor—stories. This isn’t a case of choosing “All of the above” because you’re not sure of the correct answer.

Your family’s story is part of your story

Telling stories of family members, particularly those who feature strongly during your growing up years, is undeniably part of telling your own story. Those relatives are part of who you are. They’re also part of how you became that person. They represent role models, not to mention the basis for a lot of your anxieties. And, whether or not you’re into “genealogy,” when you record the episodes of your past, you’re documenting parts of your family history. Telling their story is telling your own story.

Stories of Loved Ones Ground Us

If you read this blog regularly, you know my grandma passed down a collection of memories and stories. (See The First Treasure Chest of Memories.) Not only did she include some basic description of who begot whom, but she also included stories about her relatives. Those stories help us digest not only who grandma was, but the family that raised her was. Which means we understand our own heritage. Now grandma’s story is part of my own story.

You are part of your family’s story

For some reason, this one is often a sticking point. Most people are quick to see how their family story is part of their past and their development. What some family story compilers are slower to embrace is that the episodes of their own past have a place in the family story. Family historians are notoriously over-reticent about themselves. Perhaps it’s an occupational hazard of documenting life journeys and historic events of their ancestors.

However, that’s a mistake, and not only because it leaves a hole in the family story. As wonderful as ancestor stories are—and they are wonderful—they are no substitute for telling your own story. Putting yourself on the page allows you to connect with both present and future loved ones. My grandmother included genealogical information and that helps me form a connection with those ancestors. However, that connection pales in comparison to the one I enjoy with my grandmother.

Telling your own story and family stories

We all write best when we write about something over which we’re passionate. Follow that passion. When approaching a subject, go with the story that resonates the most with you. For instance, one particular grandparent story will stand out to you. Perhaps its’ the story of a beloved (or wicked) grandparent. On the other hand, perhaps telling your own story means writing about how you never had a relationship with a grandparent or how you feel now that you’re the grandparent.

As Jeff Goins points out, telling your own story is good practice; they make you a better storyteller.

Sep 082015
What I did on my summer vacation picture from childhood

Remember having to write “What I did on my Summer Vacation” essays? Well, sharpen those pencils

Where did the opportunity to tell all your peers “What I did on my Summer Vacation” go? Here in the USA, as September rolls around, it’s not just the kids that are in back-to-school mode. Everyone is looking forward. They’ll ask you, “How was your summer?” but it’s clear that a monosyllabic or few-syllabic response is preferred. “Fine.” “Hot.” “It went fast.”

When you do have an adventure to talk about, not many people are geared to listen.

That’s why you should be writing, not waiting for someone to ask!

Narrating—or the opportunity to narrate—“what I did on summer vacation” is a lost art. Remember
when that was the first homework the teacher assigned?

I was one of the few elementary students who liked the assignment. Climbing trees, playing in the creek, and watermelon seed fights mixed with close friendships and visits from cousins seemed worthy of narration.

Most kids dreaded it. Some figured it would be a contest on who had the most interesting summer and they would be the clear loser. Others struggled with the writing part. Some questioned why the current year teacher couldn’t come up with a more imaginative topic. Writing about being stuffed into the way-back of a station wagon with siblings and without air conditioning was hard to make into compelling reading.

But back then, as now, teachers had their reasons. It wasn’t just to assess their students’ ability to string words together into comprehensible sentences and paragraphs. Teachers then (and now) collected clues about their charges’ personalities. They gained insight into who the kids spent their time with and what their family unit looked like. It was the first step in figuring out what made the monsters students tick.

The Lost Art of “What I Did on My Summer Vacation”

And therein lies the lost art of writing about summer vacations and travel adventures—giving hints and insights into your life. Weave clues to the things that really matter to you into what you did, where you went, and what you saw.

Your Turn

Summer vacation can be wet

Even less-than-flattering photos bring “What I did on my summer vacation” essays alive

Try your hand at writing your own “What I did on my Summer Vacation” essay. Be sure to include:

• What made the trip memorable?
What type of relationships did you have with your companions? Were they co-adventurers, partners in crime, or co-cell-mates of the RV?
• What do you treasure (hopefully not resent) most about the people you spent time with? How did they affect your travels and your enjoyment of your time?
• What part of your summer vacation was tradition? How did this trip demonstrate those traditions? Break from them?
• If you traveled, who choose the destination and why?
• If you were disappointed in your time, explain why.
• Photos with and without people.
• What did you like most about your trip or free-time?
• What did you like least (besides it coming to an end)?
• Your personality!

If you come up dry or our looking for a more creative bent, apply some of Christina Hamlet’s “Table Topics” ideas for What I Did on My Summer Vacation into your writing.

Aug 312015
What would my ancestor think of me? At Losely Park in Surrey UK

As I visited the former home of Sir George More, the question came to mind. I do wonder “What would my ancestors think of me?”

What would my ancestors think of me?

I had my doubts recently, as I traipsed around the UK, seeking out locations where my ancestors lived and died. As I visited Loseley Park in Surrey in England, the manor home where my ancestors enjoyed an aristocratic life-style in the 17th century. Family members not only hob-nobbed with royalty, but also acted as treasurer for Henry Frederick, the then Prince of Wales and served in Parliament under King James.

As I embarked on our trip, I planned to visit “ancestral sites” more in an effort to “feel the dust of my ancestors’ shoes,” rather than to research. (I was traveling with a son who is not into genealogy.) As we drove up the long winding road to the estate, I realize they my ancestors probably seldom felt the dust of their own shoes. They would have had staff to prevent most dust-ups, and were their footwear to acquire undesirable soil, said staff would have removed the dust or other offending matter.

I wondered as I roamed the grounds, what would these titled ancestors think of my son and me. If we were able to time travel and present ourselves as cousins, I doubt they’d be impressed. Would they receive us graciously as members of the extended family? Or, would they be more like the character Hyacinth in Keeping Up Appearances, quickly ushering us behind closed doors before true aristocrats saw us?

Or am I being unfair? Perhaps they understood the inherent risks for putting their nest eggs in the royal basket. Those were turbulent times. Perhaps they were only doing whatever was necessary to provide for their progeny. I should be, and am, grateful for that.

Tomb in Lincoln Cathedral

What would Katherine de Roet Swynford and Joan Beaufort think of their 21st century progeny?

Likewise, at the Lincoln Cathedral, as I looked down at the tomb of my ancestor, Katherine Swynford on the south side of the cathedral’s choir, I wondered. What would my ancestor think of me if we had a chance to sit down and chat? She died at the turn of the 15th century. What would she have thought about the sheer number of descendants that she had created? Would she feel any differently about me than the royal family members? Would she feel honored that her descendants come looking for her tomb?

Your Turn:

You don’t have to visit ancient sites or plan a trip overseas to ponder this question. Do you ever wonder “What would my ancestor’s think of me?” What insight have you gained?

What would they think of your station in life and your achievements?

What would they think of your faith (or lack of following a faith)?

What would they think of the time and culture you live it?

What would they think of family alliances made after their time?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Aug 112015
resolution - book with the end

In stories, as in life, it’s the need for resolution that keeps us turning pages

I’m tickled to present a guest post from my long-time (not old) friend Lori Schweers about resolution.

Recently I found myself in the middle of an all-out Grey’s Anatomy binge-fest. I blame the Texas summer heat which forces me to seek refuge indoors in the comfort of air conditioning and ceiling fans on high. I blame the fact that I had painters in my house that needed supervision. I blame my dogs because they needed company while the painters were painting. I blame the recently cut cable service which left Netflix as a viable option for entertainment during the heat. I blame raising young children in the 2000’s when the show started for never watching a single episode.

But really I should blame my love of resolution.

Each 42 minute episode of Grey’s ends with a dilemma in the storyline. Hence my need to seek the resolution of said dilemma in another episode. Which ends 42 minutes later with…another dilemma. I’m embarrassed to admit how many episodes I’ve binged on despite the completion of the painting project.

A podcast called, “Undisclosed” has an astounding 20 million listens (yes, MILLION according to the Facebook page). The podcast is a follow-up to NPR’s podcast, “Serial” that tracked the case of Adnan Syed who was sentenced to life without parole 15 years ago. “Undisclosed” follows the finer points of the case in hopes of discovering critical information that could prove Syed’s innocence. Once again, those of us who are hopelessly addicted to the story are searching for resolution.

Our lives are multi-layered stories with tension and dissonance and a yearning for resolution. We live in the tension of waiting for a medical diagnosis, children to grow up and fly away, employment to begin, vacations to commence, a loved one to come visit, a wayward child to find their way home and even the simple resolution of a dissonant chord played in a musical piece. Our heart’s desire is to know the rest of the story and have life’s mysteries solved and answered. It reminds me of my favorite movie, “When Harry Met Sally” and watching Harry (Billy Crystal) always read the end of the book first to decide if he even wants to read the story.

Since being married, my husband and I have endured three (a couple lengthy) rounds of unemployment. My comment each time was that it would be so much easier to bear the wait if we knew how long it would be until the unemployment would end. I want to be like Harry and read the end while stuck in the middle or at the beginning. Hanging out in life’s waiting room is uncomfortable and tense. But yet, it is a part of everyone’s story in big and small ways.

Last week I finished A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. Miller likens our lives to a story narrative. It made me wonder what kind of story I was telling with my life and I can’t help but ask, how can I live a better story? How do I live well in the tension of dissonance, problems, and unanswered questions until resolution comes (if it ever comes)? That’s a tricky question.

Honestly, I don’t have a good answer. I probably have more questions than answers most of the time. I have always appreciated others who are authentic in their struggles. There’s hope in walking alongside those who are living in the tension of the unknown, but living good stories by loving others well during difficulties. I can say that my faith helps during times of waiting. I have a deep belief that there is a purpose to difficult times and waiting for resolution. When I look back at those crazy hard days when answers seemed out of reach, I can see how my character was being forged into something better and tougher. Writer Philip Yancey says, “I have learned faith means trusting in advance what will only make sense in reverse.” Wise and true words.

I am sure that all the hours I’ve wasted invested binging on Grey’s Anatomy will never bring resolution to Meredith and Dr. McDreamy’s story. But I do have faith that living a good story – even in the middle of dissonance and tension – will eventually bring a satisfying resolution.

Lori is the wife of Craig, mom of two grown sons and mom to two spoiled fur-kids of the canine variety. She is a coffee snob and chocoholic who enjoys writing about her observations of life from an empty nest in Texas suburbia. You can find her most current blog musings at



Aug 042015
Anticipation marked on a calender

Anticipation of the big event can make a great story.

In the aftermath of major events, anticipation is often overlooked. If we get around to preserving the story, we capture the event itself. Seldom do we go into the preparation, the excitement, and the looking forward to—or dreading—of the event.

Anticipation is part of the story too

Because anticipation–or dread–affects our memories, it’s often a part of the story—a part that will help readers understand us better (or the family member or ancestor we write about).

For instance, Gretchen Rubin points out in Psychology Today that anticipation is a major component of the happiness generated by an event. We anticipate, savor, express our gratitude, and look back and reflect. Likewise, in an aptly titled article, Anticipation Plays A Powerful Role In Human Memory, Brain Study Finds, Science Daily reports, “the simple act of anticipation may play a surprisingly important role in how fresh the memory of a tough experience remains.”

I’ve seen both sides of anticipation this summer. On the happy side, anticipation of meeting my son in Europe has carried me through the 90 days of missing him (not that I’m counting). Because his internship in the Netherlands is unpaid, he’ll need a loan to get him through his senior year of college. A condition—well the only condition we’ve actually discussed—of that loan is that he’ll travel with his mommy for two weeks at the end of his internship.

It’s probably not the most fiscally sound decision I’ve ever made, but as the flight day approaches, I’m giddy with excitement. I’ve obsessively planned our itinerary, taking over 700 ancestral events (births, baptisms, residence, deaths, and burials) into account in deciding what to see. I’ve booked cozy-looking affordable B&Bs, and calculated travel distances. I corresponded with friends I haven’t seen in 20 years and planned visits. I’m so excited that sometimes my feet don’t actually touch the ground.

Some anticipation is dread.

Stories of dread can matter as well.

As I helped my dear friend set up our church’s fellowship hall for her mother’s funeral reception, I saw that dread first-hand.

The event had, in one sense already transpired, but the final goodbyes were yet ahead. That dread expressed itself in the siblings’ painstaking efforts to make the goodbye meaningful. They bought orchids for each table and carefully re-potted each one. Mementos, collectibles, and photos were lovingly placed on the display table. Each item highlighted their mother’s personality and the importance of relationships and family to her.

Perhaps focusing on the smaller details gave them a respite from contemplating the big, heartbreakingly final, picture. But those of days drawing together, planning, and seeing to is a part of their family history. They matter because they illustrate the family dynamic.

Write about moments of anticipation.

These moments of anticipation are stories—stories often lost. They’re stories of how we cope and what makes our hearts sing. They’re stories of how our emotions are mixed, not just internally, but with family members.

Try writing about anticipation in your family’s life. These might include:

  • A child going away to college
  • A move
  • A trip
  • A wedding
  • A new baby on the way
  • Waiting for a diagnosis
  • Waiting for a doctor’s appointment after receiving lab results
  • Throwing a party
  • Waiting for a visitor to come
  • Frantically cleaning and cooking for family coming to visit

Your Turn

When has anticipation colored days, weeks, or months of your life?

Jul 292015
Selective reading of history -- words crossed out

Is there a selective reading of history in your family? How do you deal with it?

As southerners have debated whether the Confederate flag represents hate or heritage, several articles have addressed the idea of a “selective reading of history.” Which is, when you think about it, something families are really good at doing.

A selective reading of history isn’t quite a revision of what happened. It’s an intentional focus on some facts and a brushing-under-the-rug of other events. As storytellers, we play a role in selecting what’s told and what’s kept mum. Admittedly, sometimes the selective reading of history is appropriate. There’s a “truth” of the story that needs to come through loud and clear, unobscured by complicating details and the noise of side stories

However, other times, those of us recounting the family’s history slowly become aware of the crumbs lurking under the carpet. We feel uncomfortable as we sense them crunching under the family footfalls. Continue reading »

Jul 222015

pIRATE-lAURAOfficially, Talk Like a Pirate Day won’t come until September 19, but I’ve been saying “Arrrggghhhhh!” a lot this week.

Channel Changing

It’s bad enough that if I leave the room for more than two minutes, my husband finds an Iron Man or Transformers movie to watch for the eighty-fifth time this month. However, the real problem is the channels changing in my brain without my permission. Continue reading »