There are no coincidences…

When I went to the workshop of John B. McLemore and found 34 business cards, I was not sure why but I picked them all up.

I gave one to Kelly Kearley because she was the first person to send wildflower seeds for the Forget Me Not Wildflower Trail. She framed it and sent me a picture. She also said, “There are no coincidences.”

Makes me smile.

I asked Kellye Burt could I send out the rest. She said I could. I chose to send them anonymously.

Kindness was a very important reason for me. I felt like I had the Willy Wonka golden tickets.

When I was almost out, I asked Crystal Moore Phipps what she thought about reprinting them. She said, “Some people will always criticize you, do it anyways.”

So I did.

When I arrive to pick up 150 cards, my order is on the counter waiting on me. A young man walks up and points at the card. “Did you know him?”

I did.

I scramble for words to explain to David what I am doing. He replies that his sister Katie is going to school to help people like John.

When you come to the Woodstock Music Festival on September 23rd, you will get to meet me.

And David. And Katie. And the volunteers that they have recruited.

Katie says a lot of people look at the information and keep going. Let’s hope that will not happen on the 23rd.

Let’s talk and laugh.

Decorate a tag. Take home a card. And a pamphlet.

And a hug.

Let’s make a difference. Together.

Love your friend,


P.S. I will be glad to mail you a tag, a card, and a pamphlet. And an invisible hug.

The Forget Me Not Wildflower Trail…

I work so much better with a project.  Lately, I have been feeling like I had no direction.   I wanted to do something beautiful and lasting to bring attention to suicide prevention and awareness. 

I also wanted something John B. McLemore and S-Town fans could participate in regardless of geography and at a minimal cost.

I am extremely thrilled that it was even named by one on Twitter. Thank you Jennifer Jones, I love that name. The Forget Me Not Wildflower Trail will symbolize beauty and friendship and so much more.

Unfortunately, suicide is not an isolated incident.  It is a tragic epidemic.

If you would like to participate,  please send your seed packets to:

Cheryl Dodson 

50 Rotenberry Lane 

Woodstock, AL  35188

As a side note, Reagen wants to do an art project with her world map and the seed packets.  Feel free to send notes or packets in memory of someone you love.  We will spread the seeds and the love!

Thank you so very much.  I want this to be a beautiful memorial for years to come.  Please share and send to anyone who would like to participate. 

With much love and gratitude, 


Beautiful memories and flowers…

All this talk of time.  Time is a funny thing. Clocks, sundials, signs.  When I was growing up, we had a sign that hung in the bathroom.  It said something like the length of a minute depended on which side of the bathroom door you were on.  Pretty true, especially in a one bathroom house with five plus kids.  

My mind goes so much faster these days.  I wish I had its energy.  I would love to be able to accomplish just a smidgen of my bright ideas.  But then again, that could be dangerous. 

Here is my latest challenge to myself and to all John B. McLemore and S-Town fans:

If you will mail a packet of flower seeds to me I will scatter them.  My 40 year partner in crime, Mrs. Crystal Moore Phipps, has promised to assist.  Reagen will supervise as always.

I also promise to document this project.  I would love to receive them from all over the world.  My goal is to create a trail from Exit 97 past his former driveway and on to the Cahaba River. 

I stole the idea from Mrs. Lady Bird Johnson and thought it would make a fitting tribute.  I love her quote, “Where flowers bloom, so does hope.”

I used to love to drive down the interstate and see flowers blooming.  I would love to see it around my home.

Please mail your seeds:

Cheryl Dodson

50 Rotenberry Lane

Woodstock, AL  35188

Thanks for EVERYTHING and scatter some around your home.

Don’t laugh,


There’s more to the Door

My living room

Cheryl (403 of 418).jpg

I have been thankful that this door was in the spotlight.  It has always meant so much to me.

There are so many things it represents to me.  It was originally the laundry door and now it goes to a bedroom.  The fact that I always felt like I could take it with me made me feel better about it, even though I do not plan to go anywhere.

This is the longest I have ever been in one place.  We moved and moved and moved.  My mom was divorced and I honestly think we moved every time the rent was due.  No fault of hers, life is hard.  I understand that now more than ever.

I do not hang onto things.  I do not like clutter.  Unless it has meaning.  Then, I cannot let go.  The door has grown up with Reagen.  We have lived in this house since she was born.

It has children, parents, and grandparents.  And the hope of tomorrow, because this year it debuts grandchildren.  I have foster parented and I am excited now to foster grandparent.  We also have a grandbaby on the way with our oldest coming in July.

Another and more important aspect of the door is that it has more than one absence.  John B. is gone.  But car accidents also claimed Insanely Mischievous Drew, and Funny Sweet Caitlyn has been injured permanently.  It teaches me to take nothing for granted.

I hope to continue this tradition of adding names even if I have to start on the back.  It has become my prized possession.

And when my grandkids come over, I hope I have patience.  I was in too big of a hurry with my own kids and it has went by just like they say-way too fast. And, if I am lucky enough to get down in the floor and play, I hope someone is there to help me get back up.

Don’t laugh,


Retail Therapy

E-bay memories


Long before a podcast, there was a broken clock at my house in need of a repairman.   I remember being told that Mrs. Mary Grace’s son, John Brooks, worked on them. I remember mentioning it to him when we finally met around 20 years ago.

I can’t remember where I even got it from or more importantly where it went.  Your memory is a peculiar thing.

What I remember is the broken glass on the face and the broken fence.  John fixed it and our friendship began.  I cannot remember if he even charged me, for some reason I am thinking  $40.  I bought one on E-bay this week to try and ease my obsessive efforts to locate it.

The fence on mine could not be mended.  Go figure.  He also cautioned me not to plug it in or I would probably burn my house down.  His advice was in a long rant about 1940’s wiring.

I didn’t listen as usual, because I love to watch her swing.  There’s a running joke around here, that I am not allowed to have matches.  Only John knows about the wiring.

Don’t laugh,