Oh, the air wafted sweetly from the sea. Not like the humid, oppressive torpor of Vietnam: lighter, crisper. With the sun kissing my face, I walked amid the amber wheat, the green pastures and the rolling hills, walking, becoming lost in the brambles and then found...

Who couldn’t love newborn autumn in Michigan? With summer vacations archived in photos and memories, we flock again to high school and college football fields to cheer our team to victory. Alumni, students, and parents clap to the beat of marching bands. In small to...

I have managed, so far at least, to keep the fact that my retirement date is very near separate from the fact that this involves a great loss and major energetic shift. For the longest time I called myself “a writer.” From the time I was six years old I just knew I...

I am going to have to make some very difficult decisions soon. These decisions, they’re not happy ones. They’re not akin to choosing which university to attend, or where to take a vacation. Nope. These decisions are going to be quite sobering, an appropriate...

Years ago I spied my favorite pail at the Armada Flea Market. Light gray enamel with a graceful mouth wider than the bottom, it called my name. More a large bowl than a bucket, the utilitarian design includes two handles. The lathed, wood grip in the middle of the...

“Say it ain’t so!” That was my first reaction when Catherine Minolli told me she was going to retire from her job as editor of the Tri-City Times in September. Catherine is one of my very favorite people and closest friends. And believe it or not, I’ve never even met...

When my husband and I moved out here in the early spring of 1992, it was a dream come true for me. I’d always had this big idea to move out to “the country” and “be a writer.” I’d worked in the legal field for almost a decade, and while it was fascinating and paid...

I can’t see. I mean, I’m not blind, so maybe I should be careful how I describe my sight. I wouldn’t say that I have a disability. It’s not like that. It’s less like that and more like every word I read is frustratingly blurry. Even now, as I type these words, and...

Several weeks ago, Connie invited me to Frankenmuth for a reunion with old friends from the former Redeemer Baptist Church in Warren. The nucleus of several women’s groups, Connie rattled off names I recalled from the ’60s and ’70s. Some women I haven’t seen since....

“Good morning, Cath-urn,” she’d say with a big smile, eyes shining behind her big glasses. “How’ve you been, my friend?” she’d ask. I’d pause by her desk in the front office and say, “Not too bad, Rosie, not bad at all,” and we’d both laugh. My trip down memory lane...