“No you didn’t,” I took a sip of my hot coffee.  “You snored all night.” “That wasn’t a snore.  That was me grunting, trying to keep up...

Life gets real on the farm—meaning sometimes cruel.  Those of us who live more urbanely, shopping for hermetically sealed dairy, meat,...

Maybe my fondness for this book’s title has to do with the fact that I once was an easterner.  Like many transplants, I lived other...

Watching HBO’s miniseries about the nuclear reactor accident at Chernobyl, Ukraine, I thought of my grandmother Verna.  She died of...

Who can understand why some art touches us and not others, or vice-versa? The other evening at a supper party, talk turned to movies...

My adult son, John, came home for a visit and told me, “Ignore anything I say that sounds off—it’s my suppressed-narcissistic-rage...

Sometimes (a poem) by Sheenagh Pugh Sometimes things don’t go, after all, from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel faces down frost;...