I have a picture of the two of us on my bookshelf. She is wearing her shiny blue windbreaker with the Wakarusa logo, her short hair mostly black, ruffled across her forehead, a little spiky. Me beside her, arm around her, grinning: deep-set eyes, hair parted flat against my head. I don’t pay attention to […]
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I was drying dishes the other day, while my youngest sister, Elizabeth, washed. Since there is no room in our old farmhouse kitchen for a dishwasher, we wash them by hand, like pioneers. And with eight constantly-consuming adults in the family, that is no easy task. The one good thing about doing dishes the old-fashioned
On a foggy morning one early March, I met a tiny woman encased in a puffy tan coat. She had black hair with a fur cap perched on top of it, the hair cut short except for a thin trail that hung down her back like the tail of a ratty old Indian dog. The planes
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