Broke Enough

How much brokenness is just enough to let the hurt go and heal? I often find myself asking this when an object that my grandmother touched is changed, broken, or lost. Today, it is not my grandmother, her belongings or her memories that are changed, broken, or lost.¬† The only variable in this equation of... Continue Reading →

Love Is A Politely Screaming Child

A woman (in a stunning art deco rain coat that my grandmother¬†would have attempted to purchase from her on the spot) gave Arden and I her cart at Aldi today. "On me." she said. "what a polite little girl." Yes it was only 25 cents, but three steps later, when Arden melted-down over having to... Continue Reading →

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