One of my earliest childhood memories finds me nestled in the back of a wood-paneled station wagon with my brothers and sister, crocheted afghans pulled to our necks, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car, and little padding for our backs. Above us, centered in the beam cast from streetlights and traveling cars, our hand-shadow puppets danced across a stage until the […]
Home is My Church
Reflection: something that shows the effect, existence, or character of something else.”–Merriam Webster Dictionary By the time I was born, my family had all but given up church. My memories of going are more like snapshots, the first of which is of leaving. It was winter in Connecticut. I was probably three years old and […]
