I'm a blogger, and the blogger creed requires that we post a post about everything we're thankful for on Thanksgiving. This is that post.
For some reason I frequently find myself writing about food. This week I’m thinking about (and cooking) pinto beans.
Fried chicken thighs or exercise, which would you choose?
On this Labor Day, I want to recognize women who work harder for less money – women like my grandmother.
I was in my early 20s when everything I knew to be true, sure, and certain in life was destroyed, and the vision of it haunted me for years.
One thing I’ve been doing for the last two and a half years is teaching creative writing. And that's where I found my people.
Blogging has admittedly fallen by the wayside for the last few months, and I’m sorry for that, but there’s been a lot going on that has distracted me from putting finger to keyboard. So here’s a life update: I quit my job.
If we can't come together as a nation to fight a pandemic, could we come together to fight an invading army? Or would our division be our downfall?
Just in time for Fat Tuesday, The Washington Post published my op-ed, "After two pandemic years, ‘Folly chasing Death’ takes on a new Mardi Gras meaning."
HIraeth. It’s a Welsh word that doesn’t translate to English exactly, but it's a feeling that I often have — a feeling about my home town.