Muddle is just one of those perfect words. It’s almost onomatopoeic– like smooch, or mushy. In fact, I think that I abuse this little double syllable. Phrases like “muddle through it” seem to so aptly describe my life at times, when I’m just at a loss, when every little thing seems completely insurmountable. Yes, it […]

Sunday evening, 1987. I come to the table for a typical Sunday night meal. At the close of a busy weekend our dinners were filled with usuals: rotisserie chicken and a salad, some soup, leftovers from a more appropriate weekday meal, or sometimes my mother would whip up her version of Hamburger Helper– a mix […]