 That hate. Does it hold your hand, comfort you, dry your tears? Will it make love to you in the warm dark of a July night when all is anguish and you need to feel life truth hope whispered against the skin of your neck? Has it served you meals when you are hungry and wrapped you in blankets when you are cold? . . . → Read More: Our Very Flesh  Parenting a child with serious mental illness is easier if you can mostly ignore the future. . . . → Read More: Too Vast a Project  In the end, after almost everything was finished and her life was coming to a close, my grandma found joy. . . . → Read More: One Final Roadtrip  Groucho Marx couldn't even make this look good, and I'm not as funny as him by half. Remember when I told you I was getting new eyebrows? And then, if you follow me on Facebook*, you know that some people asked me for pictures of said eyebrows and I said no no . . . → Read More: The Big Reveal  I was walking on the beach in the late afternoon. Low clouds and chilly air meant I was alone; the ocean to my left and the beach unrolling before my feet were empty except for tangles of seaweed and tiny, scuttling crabs. The air tasted tangy, heavy with kelp and recent storms. I walked . . . → Read More: On the Beach  |
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