There is a well-known, nearly cliché, story that most of us remember from history class. Like most over-told tales, there is a reason for its repetition in our lexicon. We over-use examples when they speak to a large number of…
Writers are usually emotional people. They’re a type of artist, so like all creative people, they live with full imaginations and deep personal investment. I tell everyone that I’m the most practical artist I’ve ever met. I don’t get worked up about most…
My husband doesn’t like children. It’s not that he hates them. He’s just one of those guys who is more comfortable with adult conversation. As he’ll readily confess, “I didn’t like being around kids when I was a kid. And I…
When John and I moved to New York, I wrote a blog post called Chapter 2. Now that we’ve circled back to Minnesota, I figured it would only be right to follow up with another reflection and record of anticipation…
On a bleak December day 70 years ago, my grandfather jumped from a ruined B-17, a cold Minnesota farm boy tumbling from the sky into occupied Greece. That image is hard for me to picture because I remember him stooped,…
It is considered derogatory and sexist to refer to people’s moments of stupidity as “blonde moments” or stereotype them as “girl mistakes.” These terms have never really bothered me, perhaps because I know that, truthfully, I could easily fill a…
Last weekend John and I decorated for Christmas. We picked out our tree at a pre-cut farm (no choose-and-cut for us — we aren’t that ambitious!) and managed to keep our tempers reigned in while shopping in crowded stores for…