The last conversation I had with my mother before she died was about picking blackberries that grew wild in the […]
A hand model.
That’s what my mother wanted to be.
To shine some light but not actually be in the light. To […]
That’s what they said.
What they thought as their high heels and leather loafers sauntered down the chapel aisle. As […]
A Plea for the Marys and Marthas and Anyone Else Still Trying to Figure Out Who God Has Called Them to Be
That’s what my father called me.
It was my “handle” back in the day when we chatted up strangers through […]