Category: Non-Fiction

-IV- WOOLGATHERING It always struck me as a curious expression and one my mother always used when she caught me in a moment of idle day-dreaming, a gift I own to this day: woolgathering. More so since the veterinarian in my...

I have raved about your cranberry bread before; however, this season it is nothing less than an ingot of the divine taste of heaven. It is like no other cranberry bread I have eaten and savored: delirious with the wildness of...

What at first glance was a somber photo of two beings clutching one another had now become a devastating portrayal of their final embrace. Leafing through old National Geographic magazines, deciding which would interest my...

Where I live, everything shifted right smack in the middle of March. But those early days of staying home, working only from home, weighing the risk of every step beyond my front door—those days were too unsettling to even begin...

Mama has sat in her rocking chair for the whole morning sleeping soundly, her delicate violin by her side. Little Bryan had lingered around her and popped up to gain her attention but failed as Mama was still in her sweet dream....

My mother died a “good death.” We all said that. She was surrounded by her family — my two brothers and me, two daughters-in-law and all four of her grandchildren. She’d been to the beauty parlor the previous...

When I first heard about the workshops at Centrum, acceptance into the program was competitive. Initially, I didn’t get in. But then someone cancelled, which left an opening and Centrum asked if I could fill that space. I was so...

It seemed natural that my father, an import/export coffee merchant would share stories about coffee and its background that slow Sunday afternoon. We sat on our sunny balcony in Greece, sipping cups of aromatic Turkish coffee....

God is fixed in the firmament seen as puppet master by some patrician uncle, small child endlessly shifting blocks in new, transitory universes. All things recede from a point, have since the creation and that point,...

Many days later, as I lay on the bean bag chair to take my siesta, I would remember my last contact with humanity on those cold, windy days. At that time no one had expected that the remote virus would spread as readily as...

No social philosophy, economic strategy or cultural perspective can guarantee our well-being without the truth. Largesse is hawked by capitalists gone wild on one end of the spectrum while entitlement is claimed by socialists...

In the spirit of Alan Swallow’s Story “Golden Girl” Nearly ten winters ago, I received a letter from my employers on Christmas eve that I would no longer be needed at my job, after having announced that they were looking forward...