We sat side by side on the steps of my childhood home, my best friend Julie and I.  We were both 12 years old and Julie was teaching me how to crochet.

I hated high school.  It was hard.  I was painfully shy and had no idea how to be a young woman. 

The woman on the other end of the line hesitated. She spoke haltingly, shyly even.

“Ok, this is going to sound really crazy.”

We headed to the worksite the first morning after we arrived in New Orleans.

I try not to lie. Most of the time I am successful but there have been a couple of times when I have lied and was consequently cosmically punished.

Thirty-six hours after my hip replacement and my blocks wore off I ended up in the ER by way of ambulance for uncontrolled pain.

I’m trying to get tables set up for a big Thanksgiving Dinner. 

Once upon a time I was the unwitting participant in a drug ring at a long term care facility.

Nicole rides up the ramp in her decked out wheelchair her mother at her side.

One of the things I wish I had done as a mother was actually write down all of the things I wanted my boys to know how to do before they left the house.