Essays

Camping used to be easier. It used to be an adventure to cook outdoors and sleep on the ground.

I know the season is mostly over, but I still need an answer. How do you pick out a good cantaloupe? My record of selection is poor.

I could feel my spirits rise as my shoes dried out. It was exactly what we needed, and the only people having more fun than the audience were the musicians.

Dozens of ants coming and going, over and around the clothes pins. Why, I wonder, and even more, how?

“There are two kinds of chances,” he said, leaning over the podium. “Those that come more than once and those that will never come again."

It’s almost too warm to jog but I lace up my shoes anyway. There’s no traffic this morning because it’s Sunday and the streets are quiet. The only cars are on their way to church or to the convenience store for coffee and a paper.

Reading the classic Mark Twain novel again sparks some reflection on how we use language today.

The mist, the fight over a reservation and the realization that a relationship had run its course.

I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I have a security blanket. I suspect that most of us do.