Why I Nearly Choked

    I nearly took a Heimlich in a restaurant recently when a huge bite of turkey on sourdough lodged in my throat. Finally, gulps of water washed it down, and I gasped for breath.
     Life’s been like that lately - huge bites with the launch of my new novel. No time to chew on all that’s happening. Too much to swallow.
   Travel and exhaustion. Signing copies. The ring of applause. The sting of indifference. Both accolades and accusations about how sensitive/insensitive I am to write about Native American culture. The headiness of the book spreading to Germany, France, Canada, Brazil, and Mexico. People connecting with me because the story connects with their pain.
    Emotions high and low. Enough to choke on.
   So though I’m dog-tired, I hiked along Bear Creek, where the intoxicating scent of Russian olive blossoms washed over me. Where teenage ducks with more swagger than brains wandered out of the tall grasses before a worried parent shushed them back. Then I visited my new grandson Peter, where his tiny hand wrapped around my finger, and around my heart.
     I need more time like this to push the day’s cares to the side of my mouth while I relish morsels of God's watching over birds and babes and flowers and me.
     Then I’ll be able to swallow all the sweet and sour tastes in life more easily.