When I was small, My mommy would make our daily bread, Her loaves were round-topped Golden, delicious softness. But still, I liked it better to make my own, She gave a lump of dough, Showed how to sprinkle flour, Formed her large loaf. I… Continue Reading “Not Kneaded”
I remember as a little girl, Wandering to the vacant lot in town, Stopping to pick the prettiest wildflowers, Then running them home to my mom, I don’t remember what she said, But she kept them ’til they died, So, I know she must… Continue Reading “Flowers for Mom”
. . . error is not a fault. It is an opportunity to learn.
Some call it tough love. “I feel like the big bad witch of the cloakroom!” I fume in stage whisper to my co-teacher. In establishing a new, fast-growing school, we have needed to find traditions and rules that are worth making and keeping. … Continue Reading “Bootlegging”