Helen Baldwin lives in Jefferson, North Carolina, with her husband, Randy plus their two dogs, a cat, and untold wild critters outside. Their firstborn’s family, including two delightful children, lives just down the road, so she enjoys lots of MomMom time. Helen and Randy have a rental cabin and bees, among numerous other endeavors, so they’ll never be bored. Life took a drastic twist in 1997 when their third baby, Jeffrey, was diagnosed with SMA type 1. Although their active stint with SMA was brief, Helen hopes that sharing and connecting experiences after Jeffrey’s death, usually with optimism, helps others endure the unpredictability of loss and recovery.The topics in this column tie in somehow to the death of our baby Jeffrey, as that is our connection to SMA. I’d like this column to provide even a spark of hope to others finding themselves in devastating circumstances. Consequently, I’ve purposely tried to gravitate toward a sense of…
My husband, Randy, is a beekeeper. I helped him with the bees until an unfortunate rash from a bee sting on my forehead landed me in the emergency room. My dramatic predicament likely stemmed from the combination of the bee’s momentum as she zoomed to the pasture across…
Kevin Schaefer was a cute, spunky, almost-4-year-old when I lucked into a plum friendship with his mama, Cindy. My third baby, Jeffrey, had just been diagnosed with SMA type 1. Kevin, her third child, had a milder form. Cindy and I became fast friends. With three hours’ distance…
According to the World Heart Federation, World Heart Day encourages global participation in activities to improve heart health. The effort to unite people from all walks of life across the world is a worthy one. With endless stressors hurled our way these days, a focus on…
Being surrounded by tranquility and stunning scenery in the North Carolina mountains is a true blessing. A bonus is that our two grandchildren live down the road! Clara, 5, and James, 3, entertain us all with their endless antics. It’s great fun for my husband, Randy, and me to spy…
During my Saturday morning errand run, police motioned the cars in my lane to a halt for commencement of the annual Blue Ridge Brutal. The BRB is a grueling ride for bike enthusiasts eager to push themselves beyond the max. “Not for the faint hearted,” one blurb warns.
Because our daughter, Katie, and son-in-law, Paul, live over five hours away, we don’t see them often. Thanks to last year’s lockdown, we hadn’t seen them in 10 months when they pulled off a surprise visit for my birthday last May. That long weekend was stuffed with good…
I had Mrs. Ruby Miner for spelling in the seventh grade. Besides spelling words, we defined, pronounced, and wrote them neatly. Stepping into Room 217 usually brought on a slight spell of jitters, even for this decent speller. I can only imagine the palpitations had I not been an attentive…
I helped my husband, Randy, pluck raspberries from our bountiful bushes the other evening. Shortly after sampling our red, squishy haul, I removed my Crocs to get ready for a shower. Whoa. My eyeballs popped when I spied what looked like blood on the bottom of my foot.
Parents, teachers, and pet owners routinely witness the unmistakable impact of full moons on all realms of behavior. Insert wolf howl. As a rapidly aging adult, I can vouch for this monthly phenomenon’s continued ability to “scramble the circuits” in every capacity. For some bizarre, unknown…
