While I was growing up, my parents taught me common courtesies. Don’t stare at people. Hold the door open for others. Don’t talk with your mouth full and respect your elders.

In the Taylor Cemetery in Arizona, there is a rose granite headstone beneath a towering fir tree. On one side in the corner is carved a cowboy hat and spurs with the inscription, “See ya later” written beneath the picture.

Someone wise once said, “Teach them correct principles and they govern themselves.” Another wise man said, “Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.” In 1916, William J. H. Boetcker said:

From the mountaintop perspective of grandmother, you look back over life with awe at the way your youthful self saw the world and wonder at the myriad changes that turned your mind and heart to understand what it means to be a mother.

As I watch the stores fill up with over-stuffed Easter bunnies, baskets and chocolate eggs, I scurry around preparing for that wonderful day when the Easter Bunny hops into a perfectly green yard and hides eggs and little gifts among the shiny red tulips, golden daffodils and brilliant blue crocuses for children.

Years ago, when my three nephews moved from North Carolina to Arizona, they wanted to experience everything the state had to offer, even the dust devils.

The Bible is an endless river of goodness and wisdom. When I was a child, it was a library of compelling stories my parents and Sunday school teachers used to coach me about the perils and evil persuasions of life.

Recently I learned a new term, microaggression, that is being tossed around academic circles.

Paper hearts, cupids and chocolates are scattered once again in the windows and on the shelves of the stores. Thoughts turn to the ones we love, hoping to let them know how much we love them.

The ball has dropped, confetti tossed! The whistles have blown, and the firecrackers and sparklers are sleeping in the rubble.