We parents are a hot mess. Wobbly. Heart-sick. I suppose our empty-nesting anxiety is a measure of our love and devotion.
Smartacus has landed in this Utopia of green and yellow and orange. He’s the last of his friends to leave for college, so deep into September that the trees are turning.
A wedding damps our cynicism, lights some inner circuit, the kind we had as kids and then lost.
White Fang will wait at the kitchen door, expecting us to call her into the backseat, so she can come along for the ride.
Did you say “over?” ... Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
Posh’s wedding dress has been in a box in the basement for almost 40 years, getting dry, getting brittle.
I will let Smartacus go the same way the New England Patriots released Cam Newton: reluctantly and with a heavy heart.
I went to sort it out, rounded the corner and saw him: the bear who came for lunch.
A Chardonnay Mom works a tailgate party the way the Pope works Easter.