We’d just finished a deliciously decadent Thanksgiving dinner, the first my younger son and his family had hosted, when my son held up the candle at our table and announced
When our sons were growing up, we used to have a tradition of passing a candle around the Sunday night dinner table and sharing what we felt thankful for. When it was his turn, our then seven year old piped up with, “Let me start with my un-thankfuls.”
Forget all that “time to move on and heal our differences” stuff. Maybe I’ll get there, but after Tuesday’s stunning presidential election, I sure haven’t arrived at that place.
The local university where I teach part-time has made a special and quite successful effort to welcome veterans on campus. My veteran students are a bit older than my “just out of high school” first year students.
Even before I tried writing a novel myself, I was fascinated by authors who wrote them. Curious about the folks writers regarded as their inspirations or helpmates along their journey toward publication, I invariably read the acknowledgements’ page
Halloween happens to be the birthday of my younger son’s fiancée, so that already makes it a special day to celebrate. It’s also my husband’s favorite holiday.
Eager to get to the university on one of my teaching days, I left the house early—only to find myself sitting in stalled traffic on the interstate for 45 minutes. Sirens screamed, and ambulances roared by.
Yesterday morning, my older son’s stepmother and my ex-husband’s beloved wife, died. Last week in “Still Family,” I wrote
I was at my grandson’s seventh grade football game when the call came. Amidst the noisy fans, my son’s voice sounded unexpectedly sober and lower than usual. “Wanted to let you know