“It’s like nailing Jell-O to a tree.”  That’s what we wheeze to each other, The Mister and I, from our points of collapse on the living room floor. 

I used to be bilingual.  As a little girl, I had full command of both the English language and the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, the language of my forebears.  Now, while

The boy, I’d planned to take.  Groaning to his father (“I don’t really have time for this”), I’d zipped up his jacket and buckled him in, breathing a prayer for

Sitting there at my favorite place in the world to create (that small, round table tucked into the corner), the owner of the coffee shop had stopped by.  We talked

Tucked as we are amongst the corn fields and soybeans, it’s a quiet existence.  There’s one stoplight in our tiny town.  Flags line Main Street, fluttering just above hanging baskets

Riotous, rapturous with a bit of raucous.  Those are the words on the street today. In the circle of life with its cycles and seasons, it’s the “life” part that

Being the only girl in a houseful of men is an interesting deal, to say the least.  There are no ribbons.  There are no Barbies.  There are no ponytails. Another thing

Oh.  My.  Word.  I was overwhelmed with the responses to that post.  Surely, no columnist has better readers and friends than what this girl has.  You all, quite simply, rock

Did we ever!  Oh, did we ever.  Mind our P’s and Q’s, that is. For nine days, we ‘minded’ the one small prince and the two tiny queens that came to