We enjoy barbecued burgers, a couple games of Trouble, and a hot tub. It’s still not dark enough for the surprise Gerry and Makiya have cooked up, so we watch a couple episodes of an old 80’s show on Amazon Prime and eat ice cream while we wait. The appointed time arrives. I’m instructed to keep
I’m road tripping today. And listening to podcasts, sipping good coffee, thinking deep and wide thoughts, finding writing inspiration, enjoying divine conversation, and probably pulling over to the side of the road a few times to make notes. And at the end of it all I get hugs from my loves. Practically perfect in every
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
I have empathy for the quiet and awkward woman who carried and birthed me. It wasn’t always that way, but I understand more now. Forty weeks wasn’t enough, but it was all that we had. In losing her I learned to grieve in guilty silence the loss of something I never had. I’m an expert now. Twenty-five
Yesterday, we drove the same highway we took two decades ago enroute to our honeymoon destination in Victoria, BC. We were on the way to somewhere different this time, somewhere we think we might have been before—maybe even on our way home from our honeymoon—but we’re not certain. After two decades, our memories are soft
When she arrived, nearly two weeks ago, it was still winter. The melt had just started in earnest, but the backyard—the north-facing yard—was still white. On that first day, I predicted that the snow would all be gone by the time she went home. ”Don’t talk about me going home,” she said. No, I suppose
”Stinker! She’s not even going to turn around,” my daughter, Laurinda says. We’re standing on what must be the sidewalk in front of her new home—the one we’ve spent the weekend helping her settle in to—but is now buried under some of the largest snowbanks I’ve seen in recent memory. The morning air is cold;