On Monday, we take communion around our worn dining table after missing it on Sunday, share the hand blown goblet from Mexico filled with grape juice poured from small boxes. “This is His blood shed for you,” my husband says, and the five of us remember...
My mother helped make me an artist because she taught me to see as one struck by wonder. Through her eyes, I first treasured thistle’s down and oak’s curved limb, leaf’s shadow and bird’s wing, the shapes of clouds and the kind of smiles made...
