My name is Angela Shortt, and I'm a writer. I'm also mother to three of the most wonderful people in the world (my biased opinion), and grandmother to an amazing grandson. Apparently, my only other duty in life is to be in recovery from my various distractions during this ongoing spiritual journey as a Baha'i and a "friend of Bill". It's not easy, but it's getting better, one day at a time.
I haven't been doing this very much over the years, but I decided to take a look at the traffic statistics for this blog. What I found surprised me. Here's the overall pageviews for this blog:
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There's something rather appealing about having a "do over" in life. I recently read the collected edition of one of Marvel Comics' big events called "House of M", which was actually published back in 2005, but I was too preoccupied with my various personal issues to read comics at that time. That hasn't changed, by the way. I still have many personal issues, but I'm working through them. Catching up on comics is one of my non-food rewards. Now, I realize comics isn't everyone's thing, but just bear with me for a moment.
I've linked to Marvel Comics Wiki explanation of the "House of M", but unless you're comic geek like me and know the characters and their backstories, it might not make much sense to you. But it is an example of the classic fiction story question: "what if"? Or specifically, the grief and remorse driven,"if only I had...." The central character of the story is Wanda Maximoff, who is also…
On Monday, I checked my Twitter feed and immediately saw that something big was going on. I don't own a television (well, I did but I let my oldest daughter have it), so I searched Google news for any breaking stories. With rapidly escalating horror, I saw that there had been a bombing, no, two bombings at the Boston Marathon. Oh my God, no. Casualties? It was unclear at that point, but the stories were reporting numerous injuries. I immediately thought of my son Marc, who has been a resident of Boston for almost ten years.
No, he wouldn't be there. He hates crowds, I thought. But still, the forever worried mother had to check. So I called.
"Mom?" Immediate relief when I heard his voice. He's all right.
"Where are you?"
He must have heard something in my voice. "I'm on my way home, why? What's going on?"
"You haven't heard? There's been a bombing at the Marathon!"