The palest ink is better than the best memory. —Unknown

Life goes by so fast, it is important to write the stories before they get away. The following family tales are candid snapshots of moments in time . . .

Our son and his family came home from the city for the weekend. We had received very little snow all winter, so when the weather reports forecasted snow, we didn’t expect much accumulation. As the snow continued to pile up, he realized they were unable to leave. State, county, and private plows all needed to work in synch to clear our roads of snow.

“How long will you stay?” I asked my son, as we watched the snow continue to fall.

“We’ll stay till the plows come home,” he replied, with a twinkle in his eye.

* * * * *

When my eldest son was eleven years old, I drove him to Camp Shamineau, in Motley, where he’d be a camper for a week. Since the weather forecast predicted rain, I reminded him a couple of times to get his raincoat out of the golf bag in the trunk when we got to camp.

We finally pulled onto the grounds of Camp Shamineau and before my son got out of the car, I said, “What are you supposed to do now?”

“Kiss you quick while no one’s looking?” he said seriously.

* * * * *

On countless third-grade schooldays, my last-born son forgot something at home: a mitten, his homework, a library book, the list seemed endless.

But one March morning as I backed the car out of the driveway, I said, “I have the feeling that I’m forgetting something.”

He quickly shot back, “Welcome to my world.”

* * * * *

My mother once suggested that since I like to write and I like dogs, perhaps I should write dog food advertisements. My sister-in-law, an artist, overheard the suggestion, saw the expression on my face, and summed it up nicely: “You have to write about what inspires you—all the rest is just dog food.”

What inspires you? Write on!

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