Pictures as memories


  Our paper has received a lot of obituaries, the past few weeks. I think it’s the cold. Usually, we print a page of them, 10 or 12 lives memorialized by a list… Continue reading

The basketball girls


Molly, Shawn and Krystina walked up and down the hallway, arms linked, footsteps echoing on the tiled floor, off the walls that still smelled faintly of fresh paint. Their sobs echoed too, the… Continue reading

Money can’t buy me love


“Chair covers,” I nearly shouted, to my iPad and the cat, neither of whom were really listening too intently. “The hell needs chair covers?” And not just chair covers. Table runners, escort cards… Continue reading

Giving thanks, today and every day


Today, social media lights up with status updates, tweets and posts about the beauty of life, from as many different perspectives as friends and followers. It’s a precious succession of pearls, lovely little… Continue reading

We are all Ferguson. Whoever we are.


Ferguson is burning. If you’re not burning with it, shame on your empathy-evacuated soul. On Aug. 9, police officer Darren Wilson shot and killed Michael Brown on a residential street in Ferguson, near… Continue reading

On writing: It gots to get out.


This was originally posted on my  Medium page. Visit me there, if you’re so inclined.  A professor I had in undergrad gave me my motto, or he gave it words: “It’s in me, and… Continue reading

On internships, mentorships, and mine


Tonight I spoke to the Buffalo Niagara Chapter of the New York State Women, Inc.  about internship programs: Getting one, using one, making the most of interns and all they can do. It was… Continue reading

Let’s have some fun.


Tuesday is pagination day at the paper. The day on which I construct the words and pages and pictures puzzle that becomes a newspaper. Each week, a tiny miracle, when the paper is… Continue reading

Shining a light on invisible illness


This is a very personal post on an equally personal subject. If you’d rather not read it, consider this your trigger warning and move along to something more general. If borderline confessional blogs… Continue reading

Lewis and Clark and our soul-deep need to escape


Summer still smells like gasoline from unfamiliar stations and my view of those worlds is streaked with droplets squeegeed away, line by line, until clarity returns. Every summer, dad loaded up our 1987… Continue reading

  • The altar to my ego

  • A voice in the wilderness

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