A friend sent me the following email message from a woman who wants to open an ice cream shop in Rwanda. It's an awesome idea and she needs us to vote for her in order for her to see her dream become a reality. Please read the following
I think this is the longest I've gone without posting since I began writing two and a half years ago. Though I've had several gaps in the past related to my depression, this is not one of them. Ginger and I went to Texas and had
We started out long ago and high above the river and ended up here, again, last night watching the rain fall in the darkness, looking down across the river valley. Here, in a land defined by drought, it has rained since we arrived – not sprinkles, but sheets: the kind of
that has carried us between family and friends, sharing stories and meals, planning and remembering, feeling the rise of old feelings that pull like an undertow, and relishing new experiences that carry us like rapids so that we don’t have time to take in all we are feeling has
Nineteen years ago tonight I gave Ginger her ring. We had already decided together to get married, but I wanted to be able to make a big deal about the diamond. My friends Billy and Patty helped me put together the evening of a lifetime. Nineteen years later, that lifetime
Here's Ella! Peace, Milton
Sometimes, figuring out what to write is like a treasure hunt: I have to go out and see what I can find. Other times, like the last few days, I’m less of a hunter and more of a collector, picking up the things that fall around me and then
I had just settled in at my table at Mad Hatter’s Bake Shop when Ginger and the news that Manny Ramirez had been traded by the Red Sox to the Dodgers (Manny’s playing for Joe Torre!) arrived at the same time. Over the past few days, Manny has
I'm not a big fan of quoting things in a post without making comments of my own. Anything I might post I probably found somewhere else online and is easily available to anyone. But I saw at the Writer's Alamanac that today is Stanley Kunitz'
As I listened to the news today, I realized our church has a choice to make. What caught my ear was the story about the man who walked into a church in Knoxville, Tennessee and opened fire on the congregation. He left a four page note in his truck, part
I read a thought-provoking post this morning over at The Other Jesus. Greg Garrett, the author, is an acquaintance from years past and a good writer and thinker. His words have kept me thinking all day: At the risk of beating a dead horse, faith is not really faith
For days in a row, now, the sun has shone brightly on me, making me begin to believe it is summer: a season of light. I finished two two projects in the house yesterday; today I painted a room that has been waiting for weeks to be a different color,