In Which Grace Has Enough Hope to Share
Thursday. 3 PM. The bell rings. I don't have to look up anymore. I know the sound of Grace arriving the way I know the sound of my own heartbeat—steady, expected, a rhythm I've built part of my week...
The Hot Mess
Still tripping. Still forgiven. Still showing up.
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Latest Posts
In Which I Learn That Some Grief Is Too Big for Words
Lou's Barber Shop closes at 5 PM on weekdays. This is not negotiable. This is not flexible. This is as fixed as the tides, as certain as Walter's Tuesday drip coffee, as reliable as my ability to...
In Which Spring Arrives and So Does Everyone Else
The first warm day sneaks up on you in the northern Midwest. One day you're still wearing three layers and questioning every life choice that led you to a region where April can mean snow, and the...
In Which Milly Tells Me How Chicago Became a Diner
I've been coming to Milly's Diner for over a year, and I've never actually looked at the walls. This is embarrassing to admit, given that looking at things is theoretically one of the easier human...
In Which I Inherit Something I Already Had
The text comes at 7:14 AM on a Thursday: "Can you come Saturday? Morning. Garage." No punctuation flourishes. No explanation. No emoji, which—to be fair—Dad has never used an emoji in his life and...
Another test, please be patient we're chasing bugs.
This is a test post. We're debugging the system. Your patience is appreciated while we chase down gremlins in the machinery. Nothing to see here—just a developer poking things with a stick to see...