Something about stories.

A writer I know was in her 50s when she discovered that her childhood was a lie. She learned the truth by accident, and the discovery knocked her off kilter, partly because it was traumatic and mostly because the truth came out right as she was starting to reconcile an already complicated personal history by … Continue reading Something about stories.

Something sentimental.

She arrived at the door with a big paper grocery sack, handed off the goods, and left promptly, knowing full well what life was like with a toddler and a new baby at home. In the grocery sack were three Ziploc bags: Wide noodles; sauce; chopped Romaine (freshly chopped from a real head of lettuce, … Continue reading Something sentimental.

Something recycled.

(Originally posted with the title, "The Moon Is Like China," on August 23, 2014. The version below is a revision and, therefore, quite a bit different from the original.) One day, at some point in our childhood, my sister and I were riding in the car, and my sister, staring out the window, said, apropos … Continue reading Something recycled.

On birds, and letters, and opera.

The letter, were I to write it, might open this way: What a year this has been, right from the start... In January we had the craziest weather. One weekend it snowed; the next it was sunny and 70 degrees. Almost every night ended with an outrageously vibrant, pink sunset. Inside the confines of our … Continue reading On birds, and letters, and opera.

Letters from camp.

From the moment we master basic locomotive skills, we humans begin to pursue our independence and separate from our parents. It is as natural and ordinary and miraculous a process as any other in the animal kingdom - which is not to say that it is easy, for either child or parent. No matter how … Continue reading Letters from camp.