I had a revelation recently. These don’t come to me often, but for a few days it was as though the skies in my brain parted for a time and allowed me a rarified view of my life. This particular revelation had to do with my thoughts—how they come and go and take hold. How…
It is raining out, and has been for several days. In the breaks between showers, I’ve hurried outside to do some end-of-season clean up in the yard, cutting back dead flowers, raking leaves. Tucked between the tall stalks of wilted brown asters, supported by the thick, winding limbs of my favorite clematis, I found this…
I keep worms. Three bins of them, actually. They are my trash recyclers, and they live in a variety of containers—some plastic, some wood. I feed them all my veggie kitchen scraps and pillows of shredded paper, and they are supposed to reward me with lovely, fluffy, black compost. One worm brigade lives in the…
First, let me say that the term “cuckoo’s nest” is a bit of an odd one, as, to my knowledge, cuckoo’s don’t build nests—they lay their eggs in other nests for other birds to raise (how smart is THAT?). But I am in the cuckoo’s nest, nonetheless. The one Ken Kesey made famous. The proverbial…