O me of little faith

It’s a day when psalm 37 sounds better than all the rest, especially the parts about the wicked. Sometimes the wicked have swords, but most of the time in my life the wicked are more subtle. They lay off a newsroom full of weary, weary people and invite them to play musical chairs with new Read more about O me of little faith[…]

The old house on Ontario Street

I still dream about the old house sometimes. It was charming, despite previous owners’ weird preferences for paint colors and toilets in impossibly limiting closets. Original woodwork; drafty windows. We’d grill peaches on the deck in July, scrape ice from our windshields from November to April, and the sun would rise as I safely ran Read more about The old house on Ontario Street[…]