Glass jars of home-canned tomatoes fill the cupboard over my refrigerator, ’50s icons in a 21st century kitchen. If I could, I would pull one down, unscrew the gold metal band and pop off the lid underneath to release the fresh aroma of tomato. It would be a reminder of summer’s abundance, a buoy against […]
The smell of a sun-warmed apricot transports me backwards in time, reliving a day spent picking fruit fresh from the tree with my great-grandmother as she regaled me with stories of living in a sod hut on the Colorado-Kansas border. Orphaned at an early age, she traveled west with her relatives, rode in a covered
Sunshine on Apricots Read More »
The room is rectangular, with hospital green walls that match the metal bed where the girl lies quietly. A half-open window faces her at the far end; a yellowed shade flutters with the light August breeze. Sparrows cheep busily outside. A battered wringer washer sits next to a big sink in the corner. The girl’s
Room: A Child with Polio Read More »
For the average person, engaging in some light conversion is enjoyable. For me, it’s akin to torture. That might seem like a gross exaggeration, but it’s the truth. I know that it will not get easier if I simply avoid it, so I force myself into conversation several times each day. Whether I’m asking a
Why Introverts Should Write Read More »
It is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favourite pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to “write stories.” Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was
Mary Shelley: “my dreams were all my own” Read More »
The further I got into life, the worse my life became and the more I needed to write about it. The more I expressed my feelings through written words, the less I wanted to give into urges of self-pity. Writing didn’t destroy all the bad thoughts that tormented me, but it allowed me to think