Roberta McReynolds
Roberta McReynolds retired after an 18 year career in the commercial printing industry. She particularly enjoys activities involving children, the elderly, and cancer patients & survivors, who impart new perspectives on life. Gardening, art and volunteer service fill the hours and serve to fuel her life-long passion for writing. Rediscovering the world through the eyes of her inner child keeps her imagination fresh.
Roberta welcomes your comments: bertographer@charter.net
The Cat Pushes My Buttons
Let’s not even talk about the time I discovered Ishi was playing pinball on my computer. And she doesn’t even have opposable thumbs.Thankfully she hasn’t memorized the phone number of the Home Shopping Network, especially since she has also been known to play with the telephone. I suppose we would be safe even if she did, because she doesn’t own a credit card. Then again … there is always the fear of identity theft. Excuse me; I think maybe I’d better check my wallet. more »
My Own March Madness
You got the papers?""Check! You got the checkbook and cash in your wallet for lunch?" I asked."Check! What route are we taking?""Oakdale Road, turn right at Floyd Avenue, another right onto McHenry," I recited. We sounded like a pilot and co-pilot going through a pre-flight list before getting permission from the control tower to take off. more »
Sweeping the Conflicts Away
I sensed this out on the distant horizon several months ago, but not even in my wildest imagination the exact form it would take. (I catch myself vacillating between laughter at the bizarre and tears of frustration.) Something was in the air, like a foreboding atmospheric change signaling a storm. When the weather report warns people to evacuate or run for cover from a hurricane or tornado, that’s exactly what you are expected to do. Yet, in stark contrast, when a crisis in the family tree begins to brew we race headlong into the storm, understanding fully the emotional trauma at risk. more »
Doesn't Everyone have a Bird in Their Earring?
A faint, brief cheeping broke through the layers of human noise and caught my attention. My head turned quickly to the side of the house, waiting during the pause to pinpoint the source. More cheeping … and my ears reported to my brain that it wasn’t coming from a nest up in the branches, but from the ground. I was reluctant to step off the porch without knowing where it was safe to set my foot down.The baby bird called out with urgency as I inched my way toward his voice. I discovered him half buried in leaves that had blown up against the house during a storm. Perhaps the same storm had tossed him out of his parents’ nest of twigs and warm downy feathers. more »