A Break

The rains are here this morning. Somehow this is perfect. There is a certain urgency I have in spring when the sun emerges and the weather is warm enough to just sit in that sun and read a book. There is something inside that scolds me if I’m not taking advantage of as much of... Continue Reading →

Even in the Dark

Snow shadows from the Hoffman Hills Tower yesterday March 24Even in the DarkTo be broken is no reasonto see all things as brokenSeldom seen, growing along the ocean floor, the white plumed anemone is a watery blossom. It is white lace opening under tons of black, opening as if bathed in the sun, while so... Continue Reading →

What’s in a name?

I’ve been crashing through Gerald Durrell’s My Family and Other Animals. Crashing because it is good, and I'm loving it, and because I’m thrilled to have finally discovered Durrell’s voice as an adult, but also--possibly--because it is nine days overdue and I'm feeling like a felon. I wonder if I’m the only president of a... Continue Reading →

Settling. Snow, smoke, and peace.

OK, OK... I've given in to the word of 2020. It’s not like it’s been honking horns and gonging gongs all around me and I’ve been resistant. It’s not like there aren’t other good candidates. I’m not even sure this is the best one. But it is the one that has been quietly persistent through... Continue Reading →

Wherein Pooh is Quoted

This is it for the cutout cookies. I have brought them with me to the keyboard in order to end the madness. I have eaten so many Christmas cookies in the past week that I, as is customary for late December, feel like I, too, may be made of nothing but dough and heat. What's... Continue Reading →

Judgments, mine and yours

I vacuumed under my couch cushions this morning. Da clean couch You see, last weekend one of the adult kiddos was here with a visiting friend. Said friend spent most of the weekend on my couch, relaxing from her hellish semester at college, staring blankly at her phone, and digging her stockinged feet in between... Continue Reading →

Nourishment

What is it about time with certain authors that makes me want to write? Anne Lamott. Geneen Roth (kinda). Mike Perry. Looking at the list du jour, it seems that those who make me want to write are those who write like me, or those whom I want to write like, and on my better... Continue Reading →

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