A friend once told me that if you really want to do something, first write down all the good excuses you’ve got not to do it. When it comes to writing, I’ve got a few: All the words have been said. I don’t have the right notebook or pen. People will think I’m a fake....
This blog post was originally published on The Twelve. My grandpa passed away last winter. One of the things I miss most is saving up stories for him. My family still gathers around grandma’s table every Sunday, and most weeks my husband, kids, and I are there....
Earlier this summer, I wrote about interviewing my grandma with my cousin, Sara Lamers Messink. A poet, a teacher, and one of my first friends, Sara and I grew up bridging the 80 miles that separated us with weekly letters exchanged back and forth. We...
Upon the death of our trees, I learn the Hebrew word for orchard is paradise I’ve grown up watching my father eat apples straight off the trees. His mouth wide, he’d take one giant bite, tearing the skin, exposing the belly, carving out one side of the...
Earlier this summer my cousin, Sara, and I sat on my aunt’s couch with my 86 year-old grandmother between us. We asked her questions and then listened as she talked about her life growing up on Seneca Street as the eighth of ten children, about playing...