Nancy Range Anderson – Author

  Today something happened that made me celebrate. Without even thinking about it, I sat down cross-legged on the floor. It was such an ordinary thing that most people wouldn't even notice it. But I did. Just a few weeks ago, I couldn't sit like this. After my knee replacement, even bending my leg enough to get into this position seemed impossible. It took months of physical therapy, stretching, determination, and more than a little frustration. As I sat there, I realized this wasn't an accident, it was the result of hundreds of small decisions and hard work. When my physical therapist asks me to do three sets of ten leg lifts, I often do a fourth. When he tells me to hold a stretch for thirty seconds, I sometimes hold it for forty-five. Not because anyone is watching. Not because I'm trying to impress anyone. Because I want my life back. Improvement rarely comes from doing only the minimum required. It comes from consistently giving just a little more than yeste...

  One of the questions I often ask children and adults after reading Caitlin's Star is, "What special job do you think your loved one has among the stars?" Spending time with my grandkids this week made me wonder. If they were asked what my special job might be someday (and let's not hurry that along! 😊 ), I think I know what they'd say. My granddaughter would probably picture us walking the beach together, searching for sea glass and shells before turning our treasures into something beautiful. She'd probably imagine me in a heavenly craft room, surrounded by paint, glitter, sea glass, and little hands creating. My oldest grandson would likely say I'd be in the kitchen making pancakes, cookies, or one of his favorite breads. And my two youngest grandsons? They're not quite two years old yet, so they can't answer that question. But I hope that one day they'll remember a grandmother who loved to play, made up silly songs, read stori...

  When my daughter was about five years old, my dad was her role model. It was during a difficult period in our lives, so we often packed up the dog and the car and spent weekends with my parents. (It was during one of those long drives that the story of Caitlin's Star was born.) My mother smothered Caitlin with love, hugs, and stories. My father, the teacher, took her on adventures. He taught her about trees and plants, sports, and the wonders of nature. One early summer Saturday, my dad came home with a Weeping Willow sapling. Our family project for the day was to plant it in the side yard. As I have learned, willows are among nature's most resilient trees. They bend with the wind during storms and spring back afterward. They have long symbolized resilience and healing, flexibility and new beginnings. Some also see them as symbols of grief, rebirth, and renewal. Celtic legend says that the sound of the wind rustling through a weeping willow is really the voices of fairies...

Growing up, my dad had two sayings that I heard over and over again: "There's no such word as 'can't.'" And... "Don't quit." I've carried those words with me for decades. They came back to me this morning in yoga but in a way I hadn't expected. One of the unexpected lessons I've learned since my knee replacement has nothing to do with my knee. It's about modification. I'm back in yoga, but I still can't kneel comfortably. That means whenever the class moves into table pose, Cat/Cow, or any position that puts weight on my right knee, I have to do something different. Instead of staying on my knees, I rise into a lunge. During planks, I rely more on my arms, shoulders, and chest because my knee can't help. Ironically, some of these "easier" modifications make me work even harder. Today I found myself sweating during our gentle class. For a moment I thought, This would be so much easier if I could just do what e...

  Today I was driving when Downtown by Petula Clark came on the radio. In an instant, I was a fifth grader. The song carried me back to my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. My parents had hosted a beautiful celebration at a restaurant in Riverdale, New York. The room was filled with relatives, family friends, laughter, and love. At some point during the party, my sister, my cousins, and I had an idea. We slipped out into the hallway to practice a song. We chose Downtown . We rehearsed just enough to gather our courage before walking back into the banquet room to serenade our grandparents. I honestly don't remember if there was any music at all. I just remember the excitement of singing for two people we loved. As the song played on the radio today, another picture came into my mind. Now, at our own family gatherings, my grandchildren disappear into a bedroom or playroom. You can hear giggles, whispers, and the occasional, "Let's do it again!" A little while...

  Over the past day, I've seen many social media posts celebrating the death of Senator Lindsey Graham. Whether you agreed with his politics or disagreed with nearly everything he stood for isn't really the point I'm thinking about today. A man has died. Somewhere, family members are grieving. Friends are remembering conversations they'll never have again. Staff members who worked beside him are mourning someone they knew personally—not simply as a public figure, but as a human being. What saddened me even more were the comments wishing that others would soon follow. We have become so divided that, for some, political differences seem to outweigh our shared humanity. I find that heartbreaking. We can debate ideas. We can challenge policies. We can vote differently and speak passionately about the direction of our country. Those conversations are important in a free society and can be saved for another time. But now, when someone dies, I hope we can pause bef...

Today my daughter was unpacking boxes in her new home when she found an old photograph of herself with my parents. It was from when she was about six years old. It was special because both my parents were in the picture with her - usually my dad was the one taking the pictures. Taped to the back was a handwritten note from her grandmother that she had never seen before. It said,  "Dear Caitlin, My heart will always be with you.  Love you,  Mom Mom." She told me it felt as though her grandmother had reached down from heaven just to say hello. When she told me about the note, I couldn't help but look up through my tears and whisper, "Thank you, Mom." Sometimes we think memories live only in our minds. But sometimes they're taped on the back of a photograph or they're tucked into a book. They may be hidden on a recipe card or written on a tiny piece of paper, waiting for exactly the right moment to be found. Maybe that's one way love continues. ...

  I came across this old company picnic photo today. Everyone probably remembers the sack race. I remember something different. Look behind me. There's little Caitlin with both arms in the air, cheering me on as if I were running an Olympic event instead of hopping across the grass in a burlap sack. She wasn't worried about whether I won. She just wanted me to know she believed in me. As parents, we spend so much time cheering for our children that we sometimes forget they were cheering for us, too. Looking at this picture now, I realize that some of life's greatest victories aren't crossing a finish line. They're discovering, years later, just how loved we were all along.