Reflections on Writing, Traveling, and Food
I thought about my mom a lot this Christmas, our second without her. The year after she died was a series of days and events, one leading to the next, a run-on sentence of grief, the sale of my parents’ house, getting Dad moved, and wrapping and packing beloved possessions that once belonged to her.
It takes a lot for me to yell at someone. My family might disagree, since they think I yell all the time. “Who left this mess?” “Pick up your underwear!” “Is anyone planning to walk the dog before she goes on the floor?” What they think is yelling, however, is actually nagging, and as the