My parents were fabulous gardeners. Every summer Pop raised a huge vegetable garden - his tomatoes were to die for; his beans were sweet; his cucumbers were crisp. Mom was the flower maven - roses, peonies, iris, tulips. Together, they planted 150 azaleas in the back of our half-acre yard, turning the yard into a showplace.

I loved all the bounty and all the beauty. I'd wander through the tomato plants, pluck one right off the vine and eat it then… Read More

I have a small collection of things that are near and dear to me, things that no amount of organizational zeal could ever make me discard.

They are my precious objects. They keep my loved ones close to me; they keep the special times in my life fresh.

For example, I carry the holy card from my father's funeral in 1991 in my wallet. It's a tiny piece of paper, but I smile whenever I look at it. Deep in my "memory… Read More

"Are we there yet?"

Ah, the ubiquitous query of children on road trips! It's easier for parents these days, what with DVDs and MP3 players and other electronic distractions.

If you don't have the advantage of such high-tech solutions to travel boredom, may I suggest a few simple games that my folks used to play with us?

"How Many Miles?" is easily adaptable to any destination. Every summer my family went to the beach. To get there, we had to cross the Chesapeake… Read More

I believe that everyone who works in a cubicle needs a good set of office toys. I couldn't survive without mine.

My office toys help me think. After all, the ability to solve complex problems is a valuable skill -- hence, my Rubik's cube.
Sometimes I need to disengage my brain and let my creative side kick in. When I'm stuck, I grab a few sticky notes or a candy wrapper and do some origami. I'll fold a flower or a crane or… Read More

Thirty-nine years ago today, Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee and my city, Washington, D.C., erupted in flames.

I heard the news on the radio the next morning. We were sent home from school early that day because of fear that the riots would spread from the inner city to the suburbs. I remember feeling scared about the riots; I remember my shock that anyone could kill this man in cold blood; I remember grieving over… Read More

I fell in love with reading when I was very small, before I even learned how to read for myself.

"How could that have happened?" I hear you cry. "How could you fall in love with reading if you couldn't read?"

Easy. My mother read to me. I distinctly remember my mother reading "Alice in Wonderland" to me, and I can still hear my older sister reading the opening sentence of "Winnie the Pooh": "Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs… Read More