Paola, Kansas
2 8 16
“I hate this town.”
I said that today.
As I sat in the Circle C Cafe.
With Brad.
I had just eaten an open-faced, hot turkey sandwich with
mashed potatoes and gravy. I was looking at the grimy plaques on the wall—each
one with cute, smartass sayings that I can’t seem to remember now but as I
recall there was one in the women’s restroom that said something like, “Behind
every successful rancher is a woman who works in town.” Something like that.
Paola. That’s where I am right now. Still in my clothes but
under the covers, sitting up in a hotel bed with my laptop and a plastic cup of
cranberry juice
To my left on the night stand.
This is the town that took my son.
This is the town—and the reason
I’m here now—because he lives here with his wife and his newborn daughter,
Brooklyn. We drove from St. Joe, IN to stay here a week. To see my son and to
meet my brand new granddaughter. She is so tiny and so full of character
already. I can tell. She is a treasure—a wonderful treasure. And I know she
will bring so much joy and life to my son and his wife. I’m so glad.
