running away from home when I was 2 years old.  My panicked father found me around the corner in my red bathrobe.  When he asked me where I was going, I replied, “shopping.”

getting hit by a car near our home on Ralston Street in Ontario when I was four years old. My little friend and I had been playing in the dirt across the street, and when we started to go back home, I was hit.  The woman who hit me slowed down for him, but she didn’t see me because I was shorter and smaller — first and last time in my life. One of my neighbors came running out to see what had happened.  He kept my attention diverted by telling me, “Look what you did to this car’s bumper!”  My mother was 8 months pregnant with my sister, Karen. She ran out the kitchen door, then plopped down on the step and said to my dad, “That’s Gloria Jean.  Go get her.”

being lucky enough to be with both my mother and father when they transitioned and how good it was to talk to them and hold their hands throughout the day and night.

the first kiss that stirred me. I was 12, and it was Pat Pickering.  He had a girlfriend, but because I was so shy, I never pursued a boy. I wonder what happened to him and what he would think if he knew he was in and out of my dreams for years, but not any more.

the birth of my children and how strange it was that I wanted to relive it over and over.  I would doze off, then a euphoria would wash over me, and I would wake up and remember that there was a new life in my life.

what a miracle ensued after discovering I had cancer.  Instead of “Why me,” I said, “Why not me? ”  From diagnosis to surgery was two weeks, and I’m cancer-free to this day.

the excitement over watching and helping with the birth of my granddaughter, Madeleine.

that I am a procrastinator and that when I do meet my challenges and pursue them I feel on top of the world.

that I believe in angels and signs, but I have to ask for them.

how good it feels to go to church and wonder why do I NOT go sometimes.

feelings of utter joy after listening to Rev. Marc on a Wednesday evening and how I appreciate the love and peace during those evening, candlelit services.

what a good man my husband is and wonder why I get SO frustrated with him 90% of the time.

that I tend to put people on a pedestal, and when they fall, I have a hard time forgiving them.

that I’m embarrassed to have anyone read what I write.