You know how it goes. At first, everything is wonderful and right, and after being together, you always feel like your best self, certain you must be glowing. This person you’ve found brings out the best in you, and you never want to let him […]
It was dark and glossy, the color of coffee, and when she plaited it in braids, she could sit on them. My mother’s hair at 19 must have been something to see. Most of the time, she pinned it around her head, ever the practical […]
After retiring from a column-writing gig lasting eleven years and yielding over 300 personal essays, I find I still have something to say. My thoughts range far and wide, and occasionally deep, on subjects including being an Iowan who misses Colorado; surviving marital violence; raising an amazing daughter and an equally amazing son; being justifiably angry about the world “these days;” writing poetry and plays; wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mom and her two brothers; wanting to write about my twin granddaughters without sounding all Hallmark-y; fixing OCD-ish food; making sense of pants that come in shorts / crops / ankle-grazing / bootcut; being a librarian in public, academic, archival, and medical libraries; waiting 46 years to attend my high school reunion; having a gorgeous garden I can’t take care of; seeing a shaman; loving good men despite all the bad ones; and trying to wrest a little joy from life despite an 11-year-and-counting chronic migraine.