My first memory of sending Christmas cards was helping my grandmother at her kitchen table. Everything she needed was staged on a white plastic tablecloth covered with poinsettia designs. She had a damp sponge sitting in a saucer on the table for my job: to seal the envelopes and affix the stamps. It seemed that she wrote a letter in each card, but I don’t...
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My husband sent me a link to a book review this week by an author whose work is in my wheelhouse. The author’s new book extolls the mental and physical health benefits of walking in his neighborhood the past several years. Of small observations and large realizations. I think of my almost-finished manuscript of walking my own neighborhood. A world-weary...
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The river shush-shushes through Jane’s backyard as I catch the last of the afternoon breezes under the shade of several trees. It’s tempting to close my eyes, to call this a meditation, but another thought has taken over as I listen to birds calling to one another from the trees on the bank of the river—do birds have accents like humans? Is that why I...
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“Thank you for creating such a positive and beautiful atmosphere. You looked at us as if we haven’t been broken just yet.” Note from a student I have been fortunate to find another teaching position at our local university and, although I don’t often write about my students, they have been much on my mind since I sent them off to their final exams...
Read MoreI continue to be a work in progress. One of my most recent activities, aside from birdwatching, reading, and binging the second season of Bridgerton, has been trying to stop myself from typing I hope this note finds you well, on my email correspondence. The sentiment is true enough, although the words themselves are automatic and now meaningless after so...
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