Again, here I am, seven years later, asking myself: What was this cancer thing about? I was a mental health counselor for 20 years, so I...

I have done the dishes, folded laundry, baked a casserole, opened and closed the door for the dogs umpteen times. I am Queen Busy. I do...

What is this about? I probably go to lunch with one of my friends twice a month. I couldn’t care less about where we go, how fancy it is,...

Racing across the parking lot at the public library, I look up and see broken clouds. I’ve seen them before, but today I really see them....

She was probably in her seventies. Salt-and-pepper hair. Her cart was stalled, and she was looking at vases in an aisle in the Dollar...

I’m sharing a poem today. It was written by Bob Hicok. I came across it days before my support group met. (I facilitate a support group...

A beautiful day. A flock of robins in the yard, daffodils opening, the maple budding. Everything, mutely speaking of new birth. Changes,...

All I know to do is wait. Wait, pray, ask for help, and hold these feelings. I messed up on the computer. It means my pictures,...

“Good question. I write because I must.” Later, when I am alone, I ponder the question. Why do I write? Writing certainly gobbles up my...

Four people were sitting together under the television on the wall. I sat where I could watch the weatherman showing maps. Five minutes...