The trouble with daffodils is they have no subtext. They are all cheer and sparkle and optimism. They are avatars of perky. They get on my nerves. Read more.
My Ever-Changing Family
Meet my changing, shrinking, growing family. Here you'll find stories of married life, little kids, grown-up kids, the empty nest, cousins and ancestors, aging parents, and the view from the second half of life.
A Case of the Human Condition: When a Six-Year-Old Flies Solo
My mother-in-law was on the phone. Could my 6-year-old son Peter come to Southern California for a week’s visit with her? “A week?” I thought. Could I get along without my little son for a whole week? Read more.
A Case of the Human Condition: Four-Year-Old Girls — The Last Bastion of Pretty
Pink dresses. Powder blue dresses. Dresses with nosegays, kitty cats and sunbursts. Are little girls the last hold-outs for pretty these days? Read more.
When a Grown Daughter Doesn’t Call — Or, How to Overmother a Twenty-Something
Christina hadn’t called. We had dropped her at the airport hours ago. The flight to Burbank takes only seventy minutes. She should be home by now. But Jon and I still hadn’t gotten the, “I’m home. The plane didn’t crash. My roommate remembered to pick me up, and we didn’t get mugged in the garage,” phone call. Read more.
A Case of the Human Condition: The Center of the Universe? It’s a Little Beach in Michigan, of Course
If I were drawing a map of the world, its center would be the little beach in Michigan where the Bass Lake outlet flows into the great, blue Lake Michigan. Read more.
Geographic Mobility in America — Watching My Grown-Up Kids Disappear
Most of my grandmother’s children – there were seven of them – lived out their lives within walking distance of their mother’s white frame house in Scottville, Michigan. Not my father. He moved away. So did I. So has my son. Read more.
A (Pillow) Case of the Human Condition: Time to Crack Open That Hope Chest and Live a Little
I waited too long to get married. By the time Jon and I said our vows, the contents of my hope chest had become outdated, old-fashioned, fussy — unusable. As a result, after thirty some years of marriage, I continue to be the owner of a dozen or so beautiful, hand-embroidered, virginal pillowcases. Read more.