While driving recently, I glanced at Tom and started, “I think I want to write about the fire station, but I don’t want it to seem contrived.”
“That’ll be a short entry,” he observed, “but good to have in the files. Why contrived?”
“There were so many emotions packed into that visit that I could get flowery and heavy handed quickly, very quickly.” Tom and I exchanged memories of our family’s visit to the fire station on Kelly Lane the day after Mother’s Day last year. Some of the feelings we experienced that evening contradicted each other, and then there was pride.
“I was proud of thinking that maybe we should tell the Pflugerville fire department about our situation just in case we had to call 911 at some point,” I was hesitant to admit that, even to Tom.
“Yes,” he responded and stopped. “Wait, I thought that I suggested…
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