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The Long Walk Home

The Long Walk Home

I was sitting in my father’s chair (it creaks so badly, as if mimicking my own bones) and humming a Hymn a friend reminded me of. A Hymn that brought back a Sunday in 2006 at Bethel Church on Washington Island with my family. We all sang in the choir that day, all of...
My Pops

My Pops

It was Saturday morning, March 26, 2016, when the phone rang as I was making coffee. “Debbie,” my dad said. “I can’t find my new mattress protector.” He had just bought a new bed. I was thrilled. At eighty-six, he seemed confident he’d be around a while. And of course...
Coffee and Conversation 3

Coffee and Conversation 3

He read to his daughter, the story of Joseph and his brothers, from the black winged arm-chair in the living room of the farm-house. He wore his thick black rimmed glasses. She sat on one of the chair’s extended arms and listened. He was teaching her the importance of...
Reemerged

Reemerged

  I heard the song of the cicadas outside my window and remembered the day we left Paradou. Jean Pierre held one between his fingers and told us how they live underground for seven years before emerging to life in that area of France. That’s how long it took me...

Little Van

A lot of miles were put on Volkswagons in our family—from Bugs to Carmen Ghias to Westfalia Vans—Dad loved them. My parents made many trips to Tucson in their white Westfalila to visit my sister and her family. Dad, the Eagle Scout, liked to camp, Mom liked hotels....

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