He was there the day I was born. I wasn’t able to see him but I could feel his presents. Come to think of it, I actually don’t know of a time when I wasn’t aware of him even if only in the background of my life, occasionally blocking the tracks I was screaming down […]

We gathered around the first beach fire of the summer last night. Not a giant roaring bon-fire, but a fire big enough to keep us warm, yet small enough for safety. The stars and the moon were out. Moonlight reflected across the water from one end of the bay to the other. There was no

I’ve been gone a while. I think a little too long, actually. Stepping through the front door last night was like slipping back into my own skin.  Oh my, how good it feels! Travel is wonderful for many reasons but sometimes I think the most important reason is the appreciation it gives me for home.

My father sang a special song to me when I was a child, as I dug moats around my sand-castles and designed dixie-cup turrets atop the castle walls. I’ll never forget the day I heard the song being played on the radio. I’d had the idea my father had made it up, just for me.

At a recent family gathering, it was brought to my attention how so many of us come into the world with a malfunctioning filter. I was amazed by the number of times the women had to stop the men mid-sentence to remind them to put their filters on. Some of the men were apparently born

I’ve never had a connection with sausages. They’ve always been a food to eat when living under a rock without the internet to tell us what’s in them. Or without the common sense to look on the package and read the list of death inducing ingredients.  Like when we’re in that frantic stage of life