tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609668410134276508.post1662037194368075378..comments2023-06-21T09:14:08.639-05:00Comments on Skipping Past Cornfields: Christmas Eve 1954Julianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407208541547891658noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609668410134276508.post-71536760983419583992011-07-16T16:54:13.768-05:002011-07-16T16:54:13.768-05:00Moving. Leaves a lump in my throat. A MOTHER to ...Moving. Leaves a lump in my throat. A MOTHER to the very end.Mimi Dusthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04841776172987173018noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609668410134276508.post-10260613940421662942011-05-16T21:34:05.889-05:002011-05-16T21:34:05.889-05:00I love this. I can hear you in your mother's ...I love this. I can hear you in your mother's memory and can see Alec in Florence's face. I connected with this piece in a very personal way as I experienced a very similar Christmas when my mom died just before Thanksgiving. I'm going to Utah this week to be with 66 other members of my immediate blended family, dreading the details and inevitable drama. This remembrance of your mother's helped me remember mine and what they have to offer. Thank you for posting this. I really needed it. It will be a beautiful prologue of your book. I'm so proud of you!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com