As a third grader in the 1950s, I learned that handwritten letters were sacred. Sister Lucian taught our class the format of a business...

On July 31st I mailed my 366th letter to Vice President Pence. I had written to him for a full year plus one day, and that included three...

On June 11, I went to the site of George Floyd’s murder at 38th Street and Chicago Avenue. My visit wasn’t planned. I simply got in the...

On Victory in Europe (VE) Day in England, my son and his girlfriend biked from village to village because she loves to see the “bunting.”...

Last night as I lay in bed, questions that I couldn’t answer jockeyed for position. I saw them, strings of words in my head, moving fast...

On an icy winter morning, a sleek dog of indeterminate origin—somewhere between Rin Tin Tin and a yearling—trotted on the sidewalk,...

My mother was simply my mother. I didn’t think beyond that when I was young. Today is the day after Christmas, almost 17 years after her...

Two of my sixth-grade students estimated how long it would take to write a book. “One hour,” said the first. The second boy must have...

Selecting school supplies at the Dollar Tree, my pulse races. Is it my predilection for flowery pencil designs? And 4” x 5 1/2” lined...

My arm extended to open the door of Great St Mary’s Church in Cambridge, England—not to pray but to buy another small “Edwardian Lady”...