My Ghost Story

My 16-year-old headed for the door with baseball gear slung on one shoulder and backpack over the other. In his wake was a palatable trail of weariness and anxiety. I called to him and he stopped, sporting a resigned expression.

“I just want to say I’ve been praying for you since 4:00 this ...
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Grace Notes

I’ll never forget my first college writing class.  My professor paced back and forth in front of us with his hands clasped behind his back.  He stopped, faced us and declared:  “The best writers write about what they know.”  That statement, along with hefty required doses of E.B. White, ...
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