Lantern Notes from Heather

For months there were two laptops at our kitchen table. His book came out this week. Mine’s out there too. What I’ll keep isn’t either book — it’s the two of us at that table, each convinced the other one’s work was worth the early alarm.

Two weeks ago, I was at a county fair with my grandbabies. This week, I was at a very different kind of fair in Wisconsin—thinking about AI, healthcare and how quickly “eventually” can become “November.” Somewhere along the midway, I found myself coming back to one question: What if?

Some people have known us for fifty years. Others arrived exactly when we needed them. Time isn’t what makes someone your person. It’s being seen — without the résumé, the explanation, or the highlight reel. Sunday on Buckeye Lake reminded me what a gift it is to be with the people who already know your voice.

Almost every August, I find my way back to the Gallia County Jr. Fair. The sheep barn, the midway, the show ring--they've changed a little over the years. So have I. But some experiences have a way of reminding us exactly who we are and where we are from.

I know that ceiling, I've stared at it too. It happened fast, didn't it? The yes was out before you checked your calendar — before you checked your heart. And at 10:40 that night, staring at the ceiling, you felt the weight of it.