Saying Grace

There's a small, oak table in my kitchen. It's round and only seats four without additional leaves. It has carved legs and dr...

It's been unseasonably warm the last few days -- mid-October and we're digging for packed away t-shirts and shorts to run outsi...

Trips to Maine always proceeded the same. After the first six or seven hours, we’d cross into our favorite state, over the Piscataqua B...

I crawled up into the green-and-white pinstripe chair my mother was sitting in. Its overstuffed arms and high back enveloped us. We pu...

When the candles have been blown out, and the birthday song has been sung, the cake that my mother-in-law invariably cuts into is choco...

I am ashamed to say, that even with the bit of New England blood running through my veins, I am not a fan of fish. Or any seafood, re...

Five kernels of corn on a plate. A symbol of privation and provision. A reminder of the terrible hardness and need of winter past and t...

Wednesday was spaghetti night, or "pa-sketti" as my younger sister used to call it. Midweek was always a busy time for my fam...

Is there an unspoken rule among children that they don't have to eat their dinner? Do they look knowingly across the table at one a...

I was fortunate enough, in college, to room with a kind, laid-back girl who was also a choco-holic. Even more fortunate, her family liv...