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Did Harry Meet Sally?

by Nancy McDaniel

I was an only child. But my dad’s best friend had two sons, who were two and three years older than I. Over our growing-up years, we spent lots of time together, especially at the swimming pool, while our parents played golf. They became as brothers to me. Unbeknownst to us, our dads always dreamed that Mike (not his real name), the one who was two years older, and I would date and ultimately marry – each other! I guess it was meant to be sort of a best friend-dynasty-creating thing.

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Childhood Never Changes on the Beach

by Nancy McDaniel

For some reason, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my father lately. My dad and I were very close. I was an only child and my mom died when I was 16, so Daddy and I spent a lot of time together. He died about 12 years ago. I don’t think about him every day, but I’ve thought of him a lot lately.

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More Beach Philosophy

by Nancy McDaniel

I always wonder about migrating birds. As well as all beasts that migrate. I know it’s instinct, not intelligence (although I sometimes wonder what the difference is. And if one is “better” than the other.) I still wonder why they instinctively tend to do the “right” thing while we humans so often don’t.

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How Different the Snow is Now

by Nancy McDaniel

Why is it that so many things that delighted us as children now just frustrate and infuriate us as adults?

Like Snow.

Just when we Chicagoans foolishly thought it was safe to start thinking about spring, we recently received the quintessential end-of-the-winter blizzard.

We had ample warning. In fact, we had so much warning that the airlines, who must have been Boy Scouts, overdid their “Be Prepared” credo. They cancelled many flights hours before the first flake ever fell. Just in case. Now that was annoying, I’m sure, to all the people who were stranded at the airport.

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The Colors of Love

by Nancy McDaniel

I never realized before how much the sunrise is like the sweetest, most complete act of making love. But you have to be up early to see it from the very beginning to experience the whole, perfect joyous beauty of it.

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Beach Philosopher

by Nancy McDaniel

When I walk down the streets of Chicago by myself, it never enters my mind to wonder about the things I see. Why, for example, are people standing on the corner? That’s easy; they are waiting for a bus. Why are those people frowning? Simple, because they’re unhappy or stressed. When I walk along the beach in Florida, all sorts of questions, most without answers, go through my mind. Is it because I revert back to a childhood full of beach walks? Or am I just bored with too much time on my hands? Either way, on the beach, I become a philosopher of sorts.

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Let the Healing Begin

by Nancy McDaniel

I never seem to do things in the right order. I floss my teeth in the morning, not at night. I brush before I floss, not after. I get dressed before I put on my makeup. I quit my job before I had another. I say “I love you” first. You get the picture.

And now I’m trying to figure out how to grieve. Not a death of a person. The death of a relationship. The death of love. It didn’t die for me. It died for him. So I must find a way to put it to rest too and get on with my everyday life.

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The Costa Rican Eagle Has Landed

by Nancy McDaniel

One day in November, several years ago, my art director friend, Wendy (not her real name), and I were on a one-day business trip to Indianapolis. During a break, we walked outside to get some air and began commiserating about the upcoming and unrelenting ordeal called “New Year’s Eve.”

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Mama's Voice

by Nancy McDaniel

A few years ago, I was sitting on a rickety plastic chair in the courtyard of a little motel in a dusty small village in northwestern Tanzania. I was trying to listen to old men tell stories about a magic chicken and an epic folk hero.

That was why I was there: Helping to document these stories. But the problem was, they were talking in the Sukuma language and there was no interpreter.

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Giant Yellow Memory-Eating Beast

by Nancy McDaniel

The man from Omega (“The Last Word in Demolition”) told me it was called a “track hoe with a grappler.” He said it was a small one, only about 50,000 pounds. But to me it looks like a giant yellow beast. A very hungry one. First it bashes and crashes, then it munches and crunches, knocking down the house next door and eating it. Along with 18 years of memories of my next door neighbor, George.

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