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This Week Cut Like a Diamond

This week, I grieved the death of a friend I used to have, before he retreated from all but his closest loved ones to wrap his final years in privacy. Two of my oldest, dearest friends were with him through his final moments: one at his bedside and another, far away, his voice on her phone so that he could say goodbye.

My memories of him are big smiles, rainbows, and a sunset over Lake Michigan. It's too sappy to be true, but it is. Rest in love, kind soul.

This week, I had my back tooth crown redone and spent a few nights with insomnia headaches.

This week, I got covered in mud head to toe helping my pregnant neighbor with her landscaping while hearing about her cheeky husband's surprise visit to his mother and other relatives in Ghana. Who flies across the Atlantic to sneak up on their mom? A man who sings while he spreads mulch, that's who.

This week, I learned that tiny scraps of kindness are bigger than anything else in life. They are everything, everything, everything.

This week, I accepted an invitation to be the lead Sunday school teacher for a bunch of freethinking, freewheeling, cider-and-donuts-fueled kindergarten and first grade children for a whole year. BABYMETAL!

This week, I crawled up to 93,000 words and 165 written-out pages in The Grove of Thorismud.

This week, I registered for the 2017 Write on the Red Cedar Conference presented by the Capital City Writers Association. It will happen on my daughter's 6th birthday weekend, so I only signed up for one day out of two, forgoing the fabulous opportunity to work closely with Michael Hauge, Hollywood-famous storytelling guru (but I will attend his short second-day workshop, of course).

the ladies of my critique group, The Pigasus Pen, at last year's conference

This week, I have no regrets.

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