Monday, Monday

This summer’s fits and starts sputter into motion again this morning. We are home after a weekend away in which we watched our granddaughter perform in a play (and witnessed the pure joy on her face during the curtain call), enjoyed an afternoon rock hunting on a remote beach with our daughter and granddaughter (something

Morning Prayer

The pre-dawn sky looks something like this. Not quite, because the miracle never looks the same more than once. I watch as it grows more spectacular with every passing second. Glory, I say in the quiet of my mind. Gerry gets up to make coffee and pauses as he passes the east facing open door in

An August Fit

Today, another fit. Or maybe a start. I don’t know. I’ve kind of lost track. The other day the thought came unbidden: I’m looking forward to fall. I know. I’m aghast too. But this waiting and hoping, one day of sunshine followed by two more of gray, all the ups and downs and ins and

Green Beans

A mountain of green beans in the kitchen sink invite me to a time of rumination as I fall into a pattern of washing and snapping them into bite-sized pieces. Swish, see, snap, snap, set aside, next. It’s a good time to pray. Tending to vegetables grown from tiny seeds, in awe of the master gardener who

Fits and Starts

Fits and starts: that’s summer this year. A few days ago, I sat in a small darkened community theatre and had the joy of watching my granddaughter perform in William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. This Monday morning, I look ahead to a handful of quotidian days before the next summer shift. The ordinariness of picking

Writing Life

I spend all day working on a pivotal chapter in Presences of Absences, condensing a couple of pages into a single paragraph. Papa Hemingway advises us to write “hard and clear”. I spend hours trying to craft such a paragraph. I tweak and tweak again, rearranging words and sentences, and reading the thing out loud.