Life comes in seasons
If we could sit on a sunny patio and chat leisurely over iced coffees tomorrow, I’d want to ask you, “What’s the best part and
ARTICLES BY COLLEEN CHAO
If we could sit on a sunny patio and chat leisurely over iced coffees tomorrow, I’d want to ask you, “What’s the best part and
It was the last place on earth I wanted to be. I’d always loved flying, but this airplane, with all my worldly belongings crammed into
Her message left me shaken. She said if we had just 30 minutes together, she could get things off her chest; she was angry and
This Sunday, you will not be far from my thoughts, dear one. With every fiber of your being you long to be a mom. You
I walked reverently between gravestones, mindful that the soil under my feet was rich with history. My eyes scanned epitaphs while my heart filled in
He was old when the promise came, and it pierced through a lifetime of hope deferred. It was an unreasonable promise, laughable at best. (Both
For years I religiously observed a late-December ritual of journaling my hopes and goals for the New Year. It was an ambitious, idealistic list, but
He stole through the church doors, long, lanky, and strong of stench. His bony limbs were swallowed in oversized tweed, his hair a matted mess
Before my son was born, I had enough parenting ideals to create my own currency. I remember saying things like, “We’re not going to work
[When I wrote this over three years ago, I knew of only one other “older mom” of younger kids. I was in uncharted waters. Since
If we could sit on a sunny patio and chat leisurely over iced coffees tomorrow,
It was the last place on earth I wanted to be. I’d always loved flying,
Her message left me shaken. She said if we had just 30 minutes together, she
This Sunday, you will not be far from my thoughts, dear one. With every fiber
I walked reverently between gravestones, mindful that the soil under my feet was rich with
He was old when the promise came, and it pierced through a lifetime of hope
For years I religiously observed a late-December ritual of journaling my hopes and goals for
He stole through the church doors, long, lanky, and strong of stench. His bony limbs
Before my son was born, I had enough parenting ideals to create my own currency.
[When I wrote this over three years ago, I knew of only one other “older