John dancing with Lily at her wedding

I Hope You Dance

When it was our turn to dance as parents I could hardly remember how to move my feet, but then John reminded me of the steps. He whispered quick, quick, slow, slow… I was a little numb at the time, but his words, simple as they were, made it to my feet, coaxing them into a rhythm.

The Ekphrastic Letter

Dear Mother,
I should’ve cleaned your fingernails before you died. I know dirty fingernails never bothered you, but in that last photo I took of you where your hands wrap around the ceramic mug of fresh coffee I brought with real cream, instead of the styrofoam cup of instant with powder packets you’d been getting—-in that picture the gleam is back in your eyes, feisty again, but a dark, dirty rim lines each fingernail. I regret not offering to clean your nails, but at the time it didn’t occur to me. You had lots of life left in you. You could’ve cleaned your own fingernails….

When Writing is the Retreat

As a Mother’s Day gift a few years ago our middle son, Scott, asked if I’d like to take a writing weekend away with him. He’s a radio journalist in Seattle. Of course, I loved the idea, but somewhere between ideas and schedules, the details were difficult to work out,…

Can Memoir Kill You?

“…It almost killed me.” -Harry Crews, author of A Childhood: The Biography of a Place Both shocking and understandable if you write memoir, right? Have you ever felt gutted when writing your stories? The natural reaction to pain is avoidance. Quite often we flinch and move away from that hot…