“This can’t possibly be the right address.” I muttered under my breath, checking my mobile map.
I stopped in front of the immense, iron gate which barricaded any road travelers from the elegant Pacific Heights mansion perched atop a manicured lawn. I was rarely summoned to neighborhoods of this stature. Plus, amid the illumination of the holiday lights still adorning the stately property I couldn’t miss the black, Lincoln town car parked near the entrance of the circular driveway. Who needed a taxi when there was clearly a sufficient limo at hand?
“If you have the time, Mackinac Island is a must-see.”
He stood at the edge of the bench on the boardwalk, his hands in the pockets of his white, Bermuda shorts. Turning around from her spot, she paused, not quite sure how to react to the man standing behind her.
“I just thought I’d give you some sightseeing advice.”
“Today we are gathered together to honor the joyous life of Victor Sutton.”
Sitting politely on the front row with my parents, I intently listened to Pastor Browning recount numerous facets of my grandfather’s full life. PawPaw was strong, active, and joyful to a fault, regardless of his circumstances. Admired by many for his bold confidence, he was never reluctant to go after what he wanted. Anyone who knew him was also familiar with PawPaw’s repetitive mantra, “Never wait or hesitate, or sadly, it might be too late!”
As I rest my aching body at my desk, watching an agitated squirrel flick his bushy tail against the oak tree outside my window, I reflect on how different my life was a mere 72 hours ago—actually, the past week. And, I’ve learned a few important lessons.
Hurricane Irma was coming. She was roaring forth with a vengeance, announcing herself as a category five storm, with her sights specifically set on making a direct, targeted hit on my city. Continue reading →
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