My Grandfather’s Chair

My Grandfather’s Chair

Growing up, I spent every Friday night at my grandparents’ home, only a few blocks away from my own.  And we were often in and out of their house during the week as well.  Like as not, when I walked in, I’d find my grandfather sitting in the living room in...
Tragedy and Traditions

Tragedy and Traditions

The following was written in Advent 2011 and posted at my friend Lacy’s blog.  That first post-fire Christmas still seems very close and this time of year still is a little painful for me. Traditions.  We all have them.  Children demand them—“We did that last...
My Forever Home

My Forever Home

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it’s all right. – Maya Angelou  You can’t go home again isn’t just metaphorical for many people.  The first home I ever knew–the married student housing apartments where...

Taking up My Pen Again . . .

Three years ago, when our house burned down, I lost an important part of my identity.  Now, this was a part that had been dying out for awhile, but the fire ended it definitively. Along with being the person with a lot of books, I was also a letter-writer.  I’ve...
Beneath the Ashes

Beneath the Ashes

“The fire which seems extinguished often slumbers beneath the ashes.” ― Pierre Corneille I’ve been debating all day whether to write this or not . . . but I’m still thinking about it so I guess I will go ahead. I came across a blog post today in which the...
What Dreams May Come

What Dreams May Come

Last night I dreamt that my family and I were standing outside our house (only, because this was a dream, it wasn’t THIS house, but rather the one I lived in from age 11 until I got married).  We heard that scary cracking sound that lets you know that a big tree...
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