I want another dog. I want one so much I can hardly sleep at night. Whenever I try to accomplish something productive, my body involuntarily floats over to the laptop and my fingers autopilot me to the Angels Among Us pet rescue website. No shortage of adorable pups there! My husband isn’t thrilled with my new obsession. He spouts all manner of logical reasons why we don’t need another dog. His main argument is that 15-year old Jack the Wonder Dog would be heartbroken by having to compete for our attention. I disagree, because I have enough room in my heart to smother 20 dogs with love and …

Wisdom teeth are vestigial third molars, a leftover from our Neanderthal days when we had larger jaws and needed extra molars to chew plants and such. Once we discovered fire and fine-tuned our taste for roasted animals, we no longer needed big jaws for munching only foliage. But, consistent with other vestigial features, we continued to grow third molars even after we found ourselves classified as homosapiens. Wisdom teeth tend to develop between the ages of 17 and 25. And because our jaws are smaller than our prehistoric ancestors, our mouths don’t have enough room for the additional …

I recently began watching the TV show House Hunters. Don’t ask me why I do this, because the show aggravates me to no end. During each 30-minute episode, home buyers are shown three houses priced within their pre-defined budget. Then they select the house they want to buy and the show wraps up with a quick visit to the home a couple of months later so we can see how happy they are in their new nest. The home buyers, usually young couples, consistently cause me to throw my buttered popcorn at the TV screen in disgust. I don’t know where HGTV finds these people, but they are no doubt selected …

Recall that my husband-who-happens-to-have-cancer became a backyard bird enthusiast this year. He is passionate about his hobby and can be found throughout the day and evening on the back deck, filling and rearranging multiple feeders. Lewis tends assorted feeders, each containing seeds or mixes to attract certain birds. And after recently receiving a bird identification book as a gift, he carefully makes notes when a new type of bird is spotted at one of the feeders. Backyard birders face a common nemesis from the Family Sciuridae; otherwise known as those cute and pesky tree rodents we call…

Sunday was a big day at the Locklin house. We celebrated Fathers Day, of course. But Sunday was also Lewis’ and my 23rd anniversary. To say we “celebrated” may be an overstatement. We exchanged cards and our son took his dad to see the new movie, Prometheus, at Cherokee 16 Cinema. Methinks this was a convenience gift, having more to do with Taylor’s interests than his dad’s. But it’s the thought that counts, right? From our first year of marriage until now, Lewis and I have avoided extravagant celebrations of birthdays and anniversaries. Indeed, we tend to think of most secular holidays as a …

Remember Wren Wren? She’s the friendly little bird who built a nest in our garage last month. Actually, we have since learned that Mr. Wren builds the nest and Mrs. Wren adds finishing touches. Anyway, Wren Wren laid two eggs that she and her mate tended for about 14 days. My husband and I then awoke one morning, peeked into the nest, and spied two gaping mouths. Those mouths were bigger than the rest of the babies’ bodies. In fact, we could not see their heads or torsos. Just cavernous mouths, begging in unison for food. Wren Wren’s babies stayed snug in their nest for another two weeks, …

This morning my husband and I hugged our 19-year old son as he departed for three weeks in Indianapolis. He and his friend Colin will join an 18-member work crew to install commercial shelving at a large warehouse. This opportunity arose just recently, thanks to Colin’s father and his associates, and brought me both a sense of pride and a smidgen of nervousness. Frankly, I’m glad the lad will be out of the house for three weeks. I can resume my lifelong habit of walking around the house in my underwear and I’m released from the obligation of stocking the fridge with nutritious foods and …

About three weeks ago, a wren started building a nest on a high shelf in our garage. Carefully crafted from twigs and dried grasses, the little nest is tightly wedged between pieces of clutter, and is shaped long and deep like a cornucopia. The wren spent about two weeks flying in and out of the garage, holding tightly in her beak additional stems and debris to add to her nest. My husband putters around in the garage daily, but the little wren quickly grew accustomed to his presence. Indeed, he began talking to her throughout the day and grew most protective of his little “Wren Wren.” I was a…

Just this past week, I learned that postage increased from 44 cents to 45 cents on January 1. Was I the only person on the planet who missed this important detail and continued to use stamps from 2011? My heart sank as I thought about the all the thank you notes sent since the beginning of the year, and the probability that—lacking one penny of postage—these items ended up in a dead mail room. Were I a truly organized person, I would maintain a correspondence log tucked neatly into a pretty pink, scented box containing assorted styles of stationary systematically ordered by color and size. I …

Readers may recall that my husband and I decided to sell stuff at this past weekend’s neighborhood yard sale. Well, about an hour into the ordeal, we noticed our son’s high school lacrosse jacket was missing from the hang up clothes. We were stunned, but had been forewarned that theft of yard sale items is common. I immediately posted an indignant message on Facebook, mostly because I was bored. My message slung insults at the pond-scum-slime-ball who would steal a jacket being offered for a whopping $3. And I mentioned that the slug that did this wasn’t the brightest bulb in the room because…

It’s finally here! The neighborhood yard sale. And I’ve been preparing for weeks by hauling wheelbarrows full of bounty into the garage and readying for the big event. Yes, this year, I am selling instead of buying. Mostly I’m selling a lot of treasures brought home from previous yard sales. Because who can resist a bottle opener shaped like a dolphin, or a lamp with a bright red shade appliqued with stars and moons? I know I was unable to, which is why my house is full of other people’s discards that I now need to pass along to other homeowners with an eye for really cool stuff. Preparing …

I just spent the past six days battling the nastiest chest cold ever endured. Most of the week found me curled up in bed, unshowered and surrounded by dirty dishes and molding laundry. Getting up seemed impossible, but there were times I managed to do so because my husband-on-chemotherapy needed someone to coax him into swallowing at least a teaspoon of weak broth each day. As luck would have it, this particular week brought some of his very worst days of side effects. Any neighbor daring to venture into the abyss of our home would have been treated to a unique scene of me lying quarantined …

Apparently, our teenage son actually does have the ability to learn. Or perhaps my husband’s and my decision to be better parents has begun to pay off. Either way, the progress is encouraging. For most of his life, our 19 year old had access to an unlimited checkbook. No expensive cars or Rodeo Drive clothing, but the funds were always available to join friends for a meal, go to the movies or head off to a Braves game. Christmas and birthday presents abounded, and we enjoyed three family vacations each year in conjunction with our son’s school breaks. All that changed a few months ago. The …

Readers may recall that I set out to refeather my empty nest last year, following our only son’s departure for college. New windows, exterior paint, replacement of rotted wood. We sacrificed a 2011 vacation to get this done, but the outside of our house now shines like a new penny. And just when I thought I was making headway as a homeowner, here come the carpenter ants. My husband and I were relaxing on our back deck last week - the one with all new, still-curing floorboards - and began to see huge, black ants crawling everywhere. They looked harmless, so we left them alone. But this weekend…

My husband-who-happens-to-have-cancer felt well enough to go golfing today with his best friend. I offered to join them, but that didn’t pan out. Go figure. My 19-year-old son joined his fraternity brothers poolside, most likely with bikini-clad sorority sisters nearby. The kids roam in herds these days, sporting their spring break tans and counting the days until the semester ends. As for me? I just spent the past hour with my binoculars zoomed in on a dogwood branch in my backyard, where the cutest chickadee in the world decided to hang out for the afternoon. The little bird comes and goes…

My siblings and I used to laugh at our mother’s habits. For one thing, she saved everything. Pieces of tin foil, freezer bags, jelly jars and Styrofoam cups were never discarded and often put to secondary uses. I’m fairly certain she never purchased a piece of Tupperware or similar storage product. Instead, she used various sized butter tubs and other recycled containers to store her leftovers. Our mother insisted on making her own soap. She cooked completely from scratch and never bought processed food. She could stretch a $3 whole chicken into multiple meals. She planted a garden each year …

Have you ever wondered why we shift time each spring and fall? It’s not so bad when we gain an hour, but losing an hour - like this past weekend - leaves me exhausted for days. And I am not alone. There are 20-30 percent of us yawn who our way through the week, especially if we are already sleep-deprived due to busy family and work lives. Intrigued over the years by our time shifting tradition, I did a bit of research on daylight savings time and learned that it was the brainchild of Benjamin Franklin and some of his European pals. Our very own Congress later chiseled the custom into U.S. law…

Be aware that sightings of me will be rare over the coming days. The reason? I decided to organize my study. Actually, to call this particular room a study is misleading. It’s really more of a junk room, one of too many clutter-infested areas in my house. The evolution of this room from its status as a functional space to its current state of chaos is the result of three problems. I decided to share these insights because doing so is cathartic for me, and because my words my possibly help those of you in a similar situation. My house has too many spare rooms. When we moved to Woodstock in …

One of my favorite family memories from childhood is our Sunday Dinner. No matter how my family members’ interests and activities differed, or how dispersed we became during the week, Sunday Dinner was the magnet that brought us back to center, delivered us home. Southern dishes never tasted as good as on Sunday. In the summer months - homemade fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, mustard potato salad, fresh squash and green beans. And placed in dishes along the middle of the table were fresh slices of summer tomatoes, cucumbers, green onions and crisp banana peppers from the garden. Winter …

I spent the bulk of my Sunday writing thank you notes. My family has many people to thank these days, given the outpouring of prayers and kindnesses as we battle the cancer monster. The writing of thank you cards brings me great joy, involving a ritual started as a teenager and still used today. I settle behind the writing desk with correspondence basket and favorite pens at my side. From a variety of stationaries, I carefully choose the writing paper or card for the particular person or family to whom I want to write. Then, with just the right pen in hand, I pause and reflect on the person …