Some articles have been appearing lately about an alarming number of teenagers and especially teenage girls who are in despair, struggling to hang on to living. (This has long been true of LGBTQ+ teens. Statistics now showing a dramatic rise in distress and suicidal ideation in teen girls specifically). It’s not news. People have been […]
Temma and I got our little tree trimmed with all our ornaments this afternoon. That is always a nostalgic task. Many of the ornaments come from friends, as far back as when Temma was a baby and coming off life-support at the hospital after her cardiac arrest. Tim and I came home to our apartment […]
We do some reflecting back and forth to each other.
We first began hearing of a deadly virus designated Covid-19 back in late January and early February of 2020. I need to remind myself of that fact. Everyone I talk to about the virus that resulted in a global pandemic will say something like, “It feels like two weeks ago or two months ago rather […]
I just finished reading, A Ghost In the Throat, by the Irish poet and author Doireann Ni Ghriofa, and I wish that I hadn’t (finished it, that is). I am entranced with her voice. I’m in love with her love and obsession. She and I have gone through a similar birthing experience, although our outcomes […]
Tim suggested I write something about this painting of our daughter Temma, titled Rapt, meaning paying rapt attention. This is a state of seeing, listening, waiting, wondering, for something that is coming, like Advent. Temma seems to be ever in the season of Advent. Today, as we cross over once again from Advent to the […]
What are my spiritual practices now that I’m retired? No one in particular has asked me this question. My prayer sisters (especially one) keep on me about a church-going practice. But, no, I ask myself the question on this quiet day in November with the sun shining, Temma sitting beside me in her wheelchair looking […]
Growing up in Michigan is a story of winter, at least in my memory. The harshness of winter when things cannot grow in the ground and the fun of winter tobogganing at the golf course hill, snowboarding on the small hill in our backyard, sledding, snowball fights, and walking out on the big ice waves […]
Last night, Tim and I finished watching the series, The Underground Railroad, based on Colson Whitehead’s book by the same name. I’m haunted by the characters depicted on the screen. I finished reading the book a couple of years ago now, so watching the written images come to life on the screen brought the characters […]
My mom is beautiful. She just turned ninety-three-years old. I don’t know if she ever really yearned to be a mother—especially of five children. I’ve not asked her that question. Or was it the only alternative to a woman of her generation, married young with an eight-grade education? Her own mother died when she was […]
Writing From the Margins 