“You wanna do something fun?” my irascible, twinkly-eyed 10-year-old grandson asks.
Panic ensues on my end. What Neville calls fun is called alarming in my mind. Saying “yes” to him is like opening a can of worms. Worms that scoot out of the can and wiggle their way into the crevices of mischief. Continue reading
When we realized that the safest way to celebrate Thanksgiving was to basically not celebrate Thanksgiving with our family, I pouted.
I procrastinated.
I promised myself that I would be grateful for all that I had, not what I’d miss. Continue reading
© Shelley Steinle, illustrator.
A year ago I lost my purr.
At the time, I didn’t think of it that way. I was suffering the side effects of a concussion. All summer long I’d been unable to enjoy the activities that helped me feel fulfilled.
What’s a writer-woman to do? Continue reading
May I rest on my laurels a little here? It’s still summer . . . the season to be outside inhaling the ocean air, embracing every sunset, following the sunflowers, laughing with the hummingbirds, basking in the sun.
And, to sit on a laurel or two. Continue reading
A long long time ago, in a land now distant and far removed, girls vied to be finalists in their communities.
Finalists in what, you ask? Continue reading
roughwighting 