I sit here tapping out these words to the sound of rain and thunder. Yet another whisper of spring nipping at the skirts of winter. Spring never hurries to New England. But it is this same scarcity that lures me outside at even the slightest invitation. Daffodils push through the sod -- they must be inspected. Birds singing in the morning light -- they must have something to show me. So, we pull on mud boots and jackets, my littles…

Continue Reading


I Am Who You Say I Am.

“If someone knows who he is, really knows, then he doesn’t need to hate. That’s why we still need” ― Madeleine…