• Memoir

    planting pink

    Lawn-mowers and leaf-blowers strike up their tune much earlier in the mornings now that summer has arrived in the desert southwest. By the time I left for work on Monday, I noticed, with the same kind of resignation triple-digit temperatures bring every year, that our flower beds were empty, the freshly mown grass less green, and, where just weeks before…

  • Memoir,  Teaching

    letters after her name . . .

     There’s no word in the language I revere more than ‘teacher.’ My heart sings when a kid refers to me as his teacher, and it always has. I’ve honored myself and the entire family of man by becoming a teacher. This upcoming week, I am quite certain that I will not be the only one to invoke Pat Conroy’s Prince of Tides.…