On September 4, Jihong and I delivered Nathan to college for his sophomore year. An hour after we unloaded his stuff at the dorm, Nathan auditioned on his cello for a seat in the symphonic orchestra, a premier touring group comprised of highly skilled student-musicians, most of them majoring in music.
Imagine yourself holding a hammer.
Now, strike your hammer against a big pane of tempered glass.
Watch the glass shatter into thousands of crystalline pieces, dropping all around your feet.
Hear the initial crash of their fall. Hear the gentle tinkling in the silence that follows, as bits of glass sink and settle.
One wintry day, long ago, I had the privilege of visiting with a woman I’ll call Rose. Ninety-five years old, she was recovering from a broken hip at the home of her daughter, a good…
Dear Julie, Thank you for your sweet note concerning my work. Thank you, too, for entrusting me with this question that’s been weighing on your heart: “How does one hold both grief and joy at…
Spanish-American chef José Andrés and his nonprofit World Central Kitchen have been on the ground in Ukraine and neighboring countries since war broke out on February 24. They work with partner restaurants, community kitchens, and…
Shortly after midnight, I’m wakened by severe spasms in my belly and gnawing pain in my lower back. Almost at once I recognize the symptoms: kidney stones. I’ve experienced such an attack before. Passing big…
Mike the plumber was at our house last week, replacing a couple of old hot-water radiators. One morning, I asked him to pause his work and step into our main bathroom. “You smell sewer gas…
Last night I dreamed about John. John was long married to Julia, my father’s cousin, once removed. “Just a shirt-tail relative,” you might be thinking. But John and Julia happened to live in Goshen, Indiana,…
I The woman wades into the shallow stream. The frigid October water nips the skin of her legs. The gravelly bottom bites the soles of her bare feet. It’s too late in the season for…
This week for Staying Power, I sat down to write one thing, and something totally different came out. (Surprise! Ain’t life grand?) What came out was a poem that imitates “The House That Jack Built,”…
Sometimes “once” just isn’t enough.
Last fall, during a socially distanced writing retreat in Oakwood Lakes State Park, my friend Ruby and I took a short night hike around a wooded peninsula. Without flashlights. Without even a sliver of moon to see by.
This past week, as the leaves began to turn red and gold once again, Ruby and I met up for another writing retreat. This time we camped beside a slough, or big pond, in Lake Herman State Park.
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