Annmarie

“My mother committed suicide when I was 2½ years old.”  I used to wear that sentence on my sleeve so to speak, using it whenever I needed a little sympathy, a passage through a tough time, or even just recognition of any kind.  Sometimes I even found myself reciting it to shock someone else.  Always

I moved back up to the northeast in the latter part of the year 2000, and worked for one of my sisters for about 6 months.    Then I found myself moving back to the area where I had raised my son. By this time ‘911’ had happened and the whole country was in an

While cleaning off one of my work benches in my little woodworking shop I have in the basement, I came across a copy of a quick note I had sent my son a few years ago.  After seeing what the note said, I realized that it was a longer time ago than I had originally

Raising a son when you had no clue what being a ‘mom’ was all about was hard enough. Raising a son on your own and the only parent example you had was a dad who clearly thought his children were insignificant obstacles was terrifying.   When my son was about 12, out of desperation of

The other day at work, a co-worker was remarking about the clothing of one of the younger workers. Being fairly new to this company, I wasn’t sure who she was referring to and, of course, what they were wearing that she was about to critique.    The particular item in discussion was a pair of

The years were rolling by.  Before I knew it, years had passed at a most alarming rate.  The lessons I had learned as a bartender had served me well, (sure, I’ll take credit for the pun here).  I had added to those lessons, with dozens more throughout the years.    Some had been added through

It was during the short time that I was a bartender that I learned the most about true customer service.   It was a small-town bar that the customer base was made up mostly of contractors during the afternoons and residents at night. The owner was a very smart guy who didn’t take any bull