Why I Write or Tales from Sixth Grade

Four weeks ago, when I wrote the Boundaries blog, I asked the question: why do I  write?  And I found myself thinking about the sixth grade. I was a late bloomer.  I still wore a little-girl undershirt, while all my friends sported training bras.  Whenever we got a...

Boundaries

My grandmother kept a baseball bat underneath her bed.  Every night she’d collect the day’s burglaries, rapes and murders from the eleven o’clock news and then slide her nightstand in front of the door before climbing into the bed.  Whenever my sister and I slept over...

Artistic Rebellion

Julia is fourteen years old and the youngest member of my Thursday morning art class.   When I first started, I thought it was odd that she wasn’t in school. But then I learned that she went to an alternative school that allowed her to spend more time developing her...

Knowing Your Place

      Something I can never explain, or even fully understand, pulled me back here. – Barbara Kingsolver, Small Wonder    When I read that line in Kingsolver’s essay, “Knowing Our Place”, I felt sad. It made me think of Detroit....

Fear up close and personal

This morning as I pushed the button to open my garage, I saw something running along the door frame of the double garage door.  I quickly turned back into the house and slammed the door. I grabbed my cell phone and called my husband. I told him what I saw and waited...

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