Think of this as an unfinished mosaic: When I was little, before my sister was born, I spent weeks each summer at the beach with my mother, building castles, looking for sand dollars, and chasing tiny crabs in the dark as they darted in and out of holes, trying to escape the beams of our … Continue reading Flight.
I sent my son back to college last week, waving with what I hope looked like cheerfulness as he backed his truck from the driveway. He returned 20 minutes later, having forgotten something important, though I can't now remember what it was. A shirt, maybe, or a favorite jacket. He pulled in front of the … Continue reading Flat circles.
I learned to drive in the fall of 1980, when the future tasted like a raindrop on the tip of my tongue. It was after the summer we moved from my growing-up house into one that, in my mother's words, didn't have room for my father. It was the year we packed up books, clothes, … Continue reading Independence day
Dear friends at Frye, A long time ago, around the time my first child was born, I adopted a simple, highly efficient approach to footwear: sandals from April 1 to September 30; boots from October 1 to March 31. I am a sensible, practical, predictable sort of woman in this way. Boots being a staple … Continue reading An open letter to The Frye Company.