I am not a runner. I want to be a runner. I look at other people running lightly down my street, on their toes like nymphs who frolic in the chilly spring morning air. I am not naturally inclined to frolic. Yet, there I was this morning, headphones in, bundled up to the teeth in… Read More Why can’t this be easy?
One of my kids wrote on my table. This might not seem like a big deal, and usually it’s not. Pens slip, markers bleed, and Magic Erasers do their work. I get that mistakes happen. But this wasn’t one of those things. This was a signature, a sentence, a proclamation on MY table. The table… Read More Wounded Creations