Red Diaper Dharma

We’re swimming through mud. My husband Bill aches and falls up stairs. My daughter Annie forgets to eat; I eat too much. My heart hurts, a physical ache. Death has…

No matter how hard I try, I still hate Christmas. I hate Christmas because it turns me into a raging Scrooge beneath my candle-lighting, cookie-baking, feast-cooking, present-wrapping exterior. I hate…

Bill and I recently celebrated twenty years of being a couple. So we did the standard thing — we threw a backyard potluck barbeque. And then we went out and…

This summer, when my digestive woes got bad again and I got tired of doctors shrugging sympathetically and telling me I just had a sensitive gut, I went to an…

“Hey! Look who’s here!” Grandpa Jack’s round face beamed over the edge of the balcony as I climbed the stairs. “Tillie’s writing,” he said more quietly. “But come in!” A…

Our daughter Annie was still young when we stopped going to most family parties. Some I refused to go to, many we stopped being invited to. But I can still…