essay Holy Ground
I don’t want to worry. But I do. I want to lay my burdens down and find rest. But I don’t. My mind interferes.
essay Easy as Pie
I cleaned out the cookware cabinet in my kitchen. Marie Kondoed it.
essay History Books in Finger Crooks
All that remains of Gridley’s store is some time-curled paper copies of these supposed facts recorded by someone associated with the State of Connecticut Historical Commission for the Historic Resources Inventory and haphazardly shoved in a purple file folder marked “House Documents” by me.
essay Origami: My Personal History with an Ancient Art Form
When winter rolled around and the other kids were busily cutting paper snowflakes, I was drawing circle snowmen and triangle Christmas trees...
essay Reading Growth Rings
The trees hold earth’s history. The pages revealing the evidence of the planet’s stages through the ages are bound most accurately not between the covers of a textbook but between the core and the bark of the oak, maple, pine, languishing ash.
essay Number 331
I watched from my window as my father-in-law pulled up in front of our house with the trailer hitched to the back of his truck. He got out and lowered the metal ramps at the back of the trailer down to the ground and undid the straps that had held the wrecked car in place on the trailer from Ohio home to Connecticut.