Every day, as I drive out to the main road, I see it.
A new house is being built.
I was surprised when I saw the ground being prepared.
A dirt path was made for the trucks to get back to the lot easily.

What surprised me was that this new house is quite close to an existing house.
I saw the trees come down when the builder needed to clear the land.
I wondered how the house would be positioned, in reference to the other house.
I did not have to wonder long since construction began.

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It was a spring day in early May.
The incident happened over twenty-eight years ago.
I was pregnant with my third child.
I was due at the end of June.

Being tall, I carried my children all out in front.
My belly was like a basketball.
It was the days of maternity shirts that looked like maternity shirts.
Shapeless shirts with lots of room was all that was available back then.

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We have a bridge that connects one side of our upstairs with the other.
The bridge looks down over the family room on one side.
The bridge looks down over the foyer on the other.
There was one rule when we moved into our house twenty years ago.

Nothing could be thrown off the bridge.
I could imagine toys flying over the railing.
I could imagine things being dropped down to the floor below.
So that the temptation would be resisted, I put furniture on the bridge.

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My alarm clock goes off at 6:30 am.
That is actually late for me.
For years, I got up at 4:45 every morning.
It was nice to get a jump on the day.

People actually groaned when I told them the time I woke up.
I wanted to be up before my children.
I wanted to shower and get dressed for the day.
I wanted to have my own breakfast and some quiet time before they all woke up.

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Her round belly beautifully protruded from her shirt.
It was obvious that her delivery date was quite soon.
She had that mother’s glow.
She had a sweet peacefulness about her.

I reached out and touched her belly.
It was as if, despite the layers of clothes and her skin, I was somehow touching her baby.
It was perfectly acceptable to do so.
In fact, it is the kind of touch that happens quite frequently to pregnant women.

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My entire family was home for Easter, which was a blessing.
We talked and laughed; we remembered and dreamed.
Even if the stories were heard before, there is joy in the retelling.
The stories connect us; they are part of our history.

It was the dress up box that we were remembering.
The dress up box used to be in my youngest daughter’s closet.
The dress up box was really a small wicker hamper.
It was just the right height for my children to open in order to retrieve things.

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I broke a bone in my foot the first week of college.
It would be easy to say it was clumsiness.
However, that was not the case.
It had been raining but even the rain was not the reason.

The reason I broke my foot was because of my shoes.
They were the shoes of choice on many college campuses.
I wanted to have a pair so badly.
I got my wish and a broken foot to show for it.

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It was a sale that was to benefit our local crisis pregnancy center.
I was invited to the sale and planned my Saturday accordingly.
I knew that my youngest daughter would be home on spring break.
I also knew my daughter-in-love would be here for the weekend.

It was a sale for a line of clothing that is quite popular right now.
The bright colors and comfortable fabric make this clothing line a favorite of many.
The clothing line is also known for its leggings.
I like the clothing line because of their dresses.

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The speed limit is 45 miles per hour.
I enjoy taking this particular, scenic road since it usually has no traffic.
When I drive on this road, my route is usually direct.
There are no traffic lights just rural scenery.

I left my house about three hours before a scheduled pedicure.
Even in the winter. this is one bit of pampering I enjoy.
I had errands to run before my 1:00 appointment.
I tried to plan my route so I would drive in a complete square from start to finish.

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It was meant to be decoration.
It was meant to mimic something often seen in New England.
The origin was thought to be from Williamsburg.
History has shown that is not the case.

A fruit fan is an array of lemons, apples, oranges, and greens surrounding a pineapple.
The pineapple is a Colonial sign of hospitality.
The Colonial Williamsburg fruit fan did not actually originate in Virginia.
The fruit fan did not even begin during Colonial times.

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