My mother is where I got my moral bearings. It wasn’t complicated but remains challenging in various ways. She read me The Little Match Girl on Christmas Eve and guided me consistently to the Sermon on the Mount. She also turned me on to Kit Carson, although I later learned of complexities there. At any …
I study this photo when I have trouble squaring things away. Actually, I have a similar view walking home every night with Cowboy, Placitas dog pal No. 4, but these clouds brought more game than usual. I guess it was the death of a friend in Santa Fe — Tom Day — that threw me …
She gave us life and love, one and all.
My mother’s pencil sketch of her cottage and the bay at Hadlock, Washington, leaves me thinking about the uncertainty of human distance, how far we will travel. A question lingers in the moment of the drawing, sent to me after her death in 1979. “12 miles?” my mother asked in her neat hand, maybe wondering …
I live by your golden rules today. I miss your company. Seven kids: three boys and poor baby Sally, then three healthy girls, almost 20 years later. We lost Rob, who you are tending to here way back when. Now, two of your daughters have kids and you have grandchildren, too. I wish we could …
dreamranch 