The Blouse

We hardly ever call a blouse a blouse in these days of tops and tees and such. Yet in Mrs. Helsel’s 1967 eighth grade homemaking class (to which only girls were admitted – boys were relegated to ‘shop), we were required to sew an A-line skirt and a blouse. With...

Awash

I’ve never understood where the salve to heal the trauma of living as a mortal human exists, save in my own heart; I cannot impel you to live by my own standards yet notice eyes brimming with perpetual misery, reflect back on my own need for it, the drive to feel...

Sapid

Do you ever wish things were other than they are? I sometimes indulge in fantastical ruminating more than I’d like, and should know better. Some days are so fraught with challenges, I must force myself to look outside and acknowledge that the day is simply a day; a...