This month began with a series of changes, some planned and some … unexpected, and I haven’t quite gotten my breath back since then. The first change was with work. As The Globe completes its shift to a twice-weekly paper, I was asked to switch to a dayside role. In this new shift, I remotely…
Read More

I know spring is supposed to be about new life and awakening and fresh youthful delight and whatnot, but mostly it makes me think about dead things. I’m up at my parents, raking leaves. The leaves left on the lawn after the snow recedes are different from the first batch last fall. These are pounded…
Read More

My trip to Colorado starts with an early flight, cutting above the clouds as the sky faded pale, racing the sunrise to Denver. Well, really, the story starts with me, in the rain, the night before, searching for my sister’s keys in a bush outside her house. She’s already in Colorado, and since my flight…
Read More

I consider reading a solitary endeavor. I like to hold my book in my hands, a warm mug nearby and lamplight shining across the page, and sink into the story. I get easily frustrated with people who interrupt me in the middle of a good book — even accidentally — and if someone demands my attention, it’s…
Read More

I hate spring. It’s a brown, half-melted time of year, when the ice holding things in place is just beginning to thaw, dripping, dripping into soaked soil, rotting wood, as houses and people bound together by the cold start to sag apart. To separate, like curdled milk. I don’t like spring largely because spring makes…
Read More