Threshold
It never occurred to him to see me, exhausted and falling to pieces, alone in that room with my mother as she labored on threshold
It never occurred to him to see me, exhausted and falling to pieces, alone in that room with my mother as she labored on threshold
Three months on from the deaths of my parents, a week out from my daughter’s wedding, I finally get back to this cloth tote bag,
“There are no good choices.” I remember saying that to my mother three years ago when we hit the first major decision point in what
I have loved Roz Chast’s cartoons since one of my college friends introduced me back in the 1980s to Chast’s quietly twisted portrayals of ordinary
Kindness may seem a weak virtue, hardly suited for battling the forces of darkness. For that battle, it’s true, one needs bigger artillery as well:
The year wanes in darkness, at least here in Michigan. Much snow and ice this year. It’s hard not to brood, especially after a year
If the kitchen was command central of her household, then these recipes, I realized, were the mission logs. What a jumble of memory among those
ln the section on the Holy Spirit, we profess our faith in “the resurrection of the body.” Familiar, precious words. A couple weeks ago it
at do you do when you are old and your friends die, and you are left with that aching, empty space where they used to