Susan LaffertyChasing memories.
In a season crowded with reminders.
Decor. Music. Stories. Photographs. Taking us back.
We’re looking for a simpler time. Before complex issues came to our attention. And weighty matters entered the picture.
Before we knew.
Last year, I saw a random ad for a writers conference called HopeWords. In Bluefield, West Virginia.
Glancing at familiar and not-so-familiar names of presenters, I somehow knew—I’d be there in April 2024.
I recruited my friend and fellow writer to sign up. It’s not like other writers conferences, we were told. But then, having never been to one before—what did I know?
This past week, I’ve been reflecting on those 24 hours of HopeWords Writers Conference 2024. Remembering Bluefield’s generosity: homemade desserts, excellent musicians, rides on the trolley. Considering the words of Travis Lowe, Daniel Nayeri, Mitali Perkins, Jackie Hill Perry, Hannah Anderson, and more.
And feeling thankful for that not-so-random ad.
In December, a treasured necklace from Japan falls on the floor. Breaks.
And I get on my knees. Gathering broken pieces. Fragments.
Trying to put the puzzle back together. But it sits.
Incomplete.
So I place what remains in a bowl. Not ready to give up on it yet. Perhaps a shard or two skittered under a cabinet.
