Healing and hope . . .
Driving south on Pacific Coast Highway, the sun shines and I listen to The Moth Radio Hour. The storyteller reminisces about a Christmas homecoming after his…
Perspective . . .
Late Sunday morning, still in pajamas, I sit cross-legged on the sofa, looking through a dusty storage box for a photograph of my mom. I don’t…
I can see clearly now . . .
Happy New Year Friends! It’s been a little more than five years since I created my blog. Using personal stories and photographs I opened a small…
Love is always in season . . .
As we gather to celebrate the season we share our stories. In my own life there are so many reasons for joy; good friends, a close-knit…
Watching from the bench. . .g
The pier is packed. Spectators six deep watch the finals of the Vans US Open of Surfing below. I wedge myself into the crowd trying to…
Home . . .
I slide the window shade up a few inches, careful not to let too much light into the airplane. We are pretending it’s nighttime as we…
Hope comes home . . .
I lay awake, heart racing. Resting my hand upon my chest, I struggle to take a deep breath and remind myself to stay calm. I sit…
A mother’s hope . . .
There is a boy I love. I dreamed of him and what he would be before I ever met him, blonde and blue-eyed, smart and funny,…
