According to the notification’s heading, I’m approved for another credit card, which has had no impact on my credit score—they are so good to me. It’s the fifth one this week: two by mail and three by email. When a credit card carrier sends you five unrequested blank checks begging you to run up your…
I wrote a piece about the well of tears I’ve managed to keep hidden, but I’m not quite prepared to share it. Like anyone working through grief, it can overwhelm your stoic nature without fair warning. In the last few weeks, along with my little sister, I have been focusing on moving my Mama to…
With all the hubbub about the upcoming eclipse and me being so close to the path of totality, you’d think I might get into my truck on Monday and invade some small Maine town with a cup of coffee in hand to catch the moon and sun in their public display of affection. It’s not…
During my first nineteen years of life, we moved seventeen times; I know the figure is correct, but memory serves me poorly sometimes. If I sat down with pen and paper, I could sketch out a timeline for you, but I’ll spare you the details. Most often, we were within the boundaries of Maine, but…
I saw my Mama today. I brought my coffee. She’d already had hers. I helped her pack up her favorite piece of leaded stained glass—a loon. It is lovely. She’s been keeping it in a sunny window so the colors pop, but she was worried it might get cracked or broken in the move. She’s…
Can you imagine the overwhelming number of photos that today’s twenty-somethings will be able to show their kids in thirty years? I grew up hearing Mom and Dad say, “I remember that picture; where did you find it?” I would listen to their descriptions. They recalled the event because someone else took the photo, and…
I wanted coffee, and while I don’t take sugar, she was sweet. Our exchange, while brief, smacked of a moment in time that wouldn’t have come to mind for any other reason. Most often, I hear phrases that cast a negative shadow over the prospect of the morning, early rising, and the slog that can…
I picked out three shirts that belonged to my old man. I took them from the closet with permission from my mom, who had taken an out-of-town break after Dad passed away. Some of his shirts fit me well, some not so much. As expected, I went through the pockets—his pockets. He might have left…
Bright sunny skies, warm breezes, and smiles were on tap for Monday’s Happy Hour at Chez Ellie. I shut down all the heat sources in the house, opened windows, and swiped right on the sliding window on the screen door that leads to the back deck, saying a hearty yes to cross ventilation. We only…
My dad told me a few stories about trudging to school. That’s what dads born before 1945 tended to do. He told me a few times he wore sneakers year-round through the western Maine winters. He explained he had to wear thicker socks in cold weather. Any kid worth his salt on the baseball diamond…