Columns

Cures for Cabin Fever

Cuddles, our tortoiseshell kitten, lifts a paw to the kitchen's sliding glass door. Her ears twitch. She extends her neck as starlings gather in our bare maple tree. Her jaw trembles in cat chatter. "I know what you mean, Cudds," I say with my hands in dishwater....

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Going to Plan B

So it is that we're having yet another version of what we've begun calling Souper Bowl tonight. (And if that's already been trademarked, I apologize.) Here's the back story to that. A month or so ago a friend had a life-interrupting situation. Another friend organized...

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Mitty’s message

The morning before I left for Dave and Mary's home in Traverse City, she emailed a video from her cat. "Hi, Auntie Iris," said Mitty's headshot in a cartoonish voice. "I'm so glad to hear you're not allergic to me. I'm really looking forward to your visit. It's going...

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Conspiracy theory with substance

Note: Paths that cross will cross again...I think Patti Smith said that in an awesome song. Anyhow, this week's story about Integrative Nutrition Health Coach Mikann Thompson's visit prompted me to dig out this column. Kindred spirits, I am so not surprised that our...

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Imagination on razor’s edge

"Made in Japan"—labeled barber's shears, specked with hair trimmings, lie inside and outside a segmented box on the shelf before me. The mirror on the wall behind it reflects my wide-eyed gaze. Elsewhere on the wall, fake roses hang in cascades of very un-rose-like...

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An ally in the creativity department

Note: As the eighth anniversary of the death of my father draws near, I am re-running a column I wrote seven years ago on the first anniversary of his death. For the longest time my sisters make fun of me because I can't seem to let anything go. Its life isn't over...

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In living color?

The beautiful opalescent pitcher on the counter just now caught my eye, reminding me once again how drawn I am to white on white. The only reason I own that ceramic piece is that a friend invited me to her yard sale when she sold her mother's things; and the only...

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Aunt Beulah’s birds

Aunt Beulah kept birds. Chickens. Rooted in Appalachia, she could snare a hen and serve it fried within the hour to her husband and five children. Back in the 1950s, Uncle Charlie fenced in a spacious poultry yard when they lived in Oceana, West Virginia. He painted...

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Settling in to unsettling experience

It was a very nondescript parlor tucked away in one of the many dark alleys off the bustling main street. It seemed as good as any. In the heat of the night I checked my watch: half past nine. Well, I wasn't sleepy yet, and the city never sleeps. A good time for a...

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