I sit by the window with my morning coffee. It is quiet except for the hum of the fan in the old wood stove. The sun brightens the pages in my lap, Madeleine L’Engle’s Glimpses of Grace. The shadow of a bare Virginia Creeper branch moves back and forth across the page. I wonder if…
Going to Walden by Mary Oliver It isn’t very far as highways lie. I might be back by nightfall, having seen The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water. Friends argue that I might be wiser for it. They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper: How dull we grow from hurrying here…
Through the heads of the passengers milling around the train station, he saw her . . . dark brown hair, full lips, and those legs! He made his way toward her, emboldened by the uniform he wore. She saw him coming towards her. He looked like movie star Van Johnson . . . tall, thin,…
Sunday dinner was usually at our house in town as the years passed. We had grown kids now, just one still at home. Mom and Dad would stop by after church, before heading back out to the ranch. Mom would sit in my chair down in the living room, thumbing through a magazine, humming softly…
The Cabin Chronicles—January 2014 We’ve been watching the ice form on the bay. First, it was lacy white with swirls, as if the wind had figure-skated across it. Days later, it was a solid gray with fog moving like dry ice along the edge where it met the water. Then it was white with new snow, glistening…
Andy Warhol, Campbell's Soup Cans, 1962 It wasn’t a huge grocery list but too much for the small cart. I was feeling pretty efficient as I zipped through Produce bagging lemons and ginger and cilantro and yellow squash. The plastic produce bags were plentiful, twisty ties standing at attention in the little holders. I try…
It starts to snow midday as we get ready for our first errand together since recovering. We might have cancelled, if it weren't important. It hasn’t snowed here since Christmas, yet my first reaction is a vague trepidation. I’m doing the driving until my guy gets stronger. He’s the snow driver. The roads are still…
When you’re sick you have plenty of time to think. It’s not that linear, logical thinking that solves a problem or takes you somewhere . . . but rather the more common pattern of short visits to many places and times, conscious and subconscious links. The impetus, an awareness of the brevity of time and…
"Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go . . ." When we were kids, we thought this song had been written just for us, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Certainly, it was our destination that had inspired it—the log house on the lake 89 miles south through winding roads and…
Photo credit: Bill O In late October we gathered in the beautiful Kentucky countryside at the cutest little farmhouse Vrbo for a Sibs Decade Birthday Gathering. Another of us was reaching a milestone Birthday and we had come from the four corners of the country to experience the Ark Encounter. We began this tradition when…
Cabin Granny 