One year ago, we buried my grandmother. When Chris and I heard that she had died, we packed up the car, buckled the children, and started on the long road to North Carolina. We downloaded “The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane” on audiobook to entertain the kids. As we curved through mountain roads of West… Read More
It won’t stop raining. We keep our muddy boots in a barrel beside the door, next to a shelf of umbrellas and towels. Every time we come in from the drizzle, we give the barrel the evil eye. It always looks appropriately ashamed.
In the monotony of our snowy February, I received a poetry prompt: write about first love. In spite of the looming holiday, I was quite unsentimental. Until, that is, I watched the birds outside my dining room window, who sacrificed themselves for the chance of wild flight. Here is a eulogy for the wild winged… Read More
I should be writing. The literary trifecta are in reach: laptop, coffee, Annie Dillard books. But even so, I can’t stop watching the breeze play with the steam off my coffee. It’s mesmerizing, like a hands-on lava lamp. Just as the sunlight catches the swirls, they vanish. Diffused. It’s normal and romantic, ethereal and earthy. … Read More