Random Thoughts of Amy Potts

Once while talking about the annual opportunity to honor fathers, a friend suggested that we could celebrate because we have pets.  Let me set the record straight by saying that Mike did not father our dog and cat. Mike also is not my father and therefore not only do we have a normal relationship, but we also have no reason to make a fuss about Father's Day at our house.   Mike does have a father and we honor him each year by spending time with the family; reminiscing and laughing about days gone by.  Most of which I wasn't around for but I enjoy hearing the stories just the same.  Mike's dad has been a hardworking man and his care for his children has been a labor of love, dedication and commitment.  Because of this I have a husband who is equally dedicated and committed to his relationship with me.  If I can celebrate one thing this Father's day, it is that.  My husband's father. But I think there is more to celebrate. Some wake up on Father

A few years back I gave a little boy, who was turning five years old, five one dollar bills.  I did this because I thought he would see five bills as being a lot of money.  Instead he looked at the meager one dollar bills and said, “These are ones, I can’t buy anything with one dollar”.  He tossed them on the table in disgust and opened the next card from his uncle. In that card was a five-dollar bill.  The young boy said, “now this I can do something with”.  To him the single bill stamped with $5 on it, was of more value than the separate bills that I gave him because he couldn’t see past the value of the $1 marking.  Eventually he scooped them all up and announced, “Look at how much I have!”  Holding all of the bills in his tiny hand finally made him realize just how much he really had.    I don’t know about you, but sometimes I view people in the same way.  When their lives seem to be in a million pieces, I have trouble seeing them as a whole person; a person of single value

There is just something that keeps calling me back. Maybe it's a fear that the good memories will fade with time unless I trace over and again the path to all I have become. Driving familiar roads making note of the things that remain; only older, warn and broken down. Grieving, in a small way, the things that are no longer there; houses, grocery stores, barns. Time seems the robber of memories. But what we do remember must be met with the reality that someone remembers those things differently, if at all. We remember events, people and places according to the the effect that they had on our lives. Perhaps we remember them as obstacles in our path while someone remembers them as the challenge they needed to push them to achieve more. However we remember those things, they are etched in our minds somewhere. Whether we choose to remember or not, they can creep to the front of our mind. Most would not know about a little town in Iowa called Clarion. But when I hear mention of th