When Rome is burning, the ship’s going down, and the local Huns are breaching the walls, that’s when I say it.

Sure enough. “Mom!” His voice was urgent. “I need you to edit my essay before second period.” Sighing, I poked the “on” button to start more coffee and trudged upstairs

Many times as I write, I feel the thrill of it; the joy of creation; the indefinable, indescribable exuberance of crafting something good.  Often, I laugh out loud in that

If marriage, then, isn’t a Disney production, the girl isn’t Cinderella, and the boy’s not Prince Charming, how does a real romance look?  It’s tricky, nailing it down when real

Today is Monday, tomorrow’s Tuesday, and I’m thinking of T’s.  I’m mulling over things that tickle my gizzard and things that don’t and what do you do with those? I’ll

“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