This past summer, I was headed to a friend’s family BBQ, sitting shotgun with a bowl of potato salad in my lap. He was giving me the rundown on who would be there: His cousin who just returned from a mysterious weekend trip to Ottawa that turned into three years…

My neighbor, Brian, was leaning on the chain link fence that divided our yards as I mowed. I liked Brian. He was affable, gregarious, and had helped me change my tire once. …

Our shared work this year is drawing a hard line to keep fascists out. A few years ago, a book caught my eye while I was browsing in a used book store. Flipping through the pages, I found that the author was asking why mocking rednecks was an acceptable form of prejudice and so central to mainstream American humor. …

One of my favorite neighborhood kids is celebrating her birthday tonight and invited a few friends over for pizza. Her mother received a text saying that one of the friends can’t come. It wasn’t a simple polite decline, but instead a long text explaining that the family isn’t comfortable with…

A bowl of rice, a half burnt candle in a Mason jar, a bluebird feather as a book mark. A worn rug, threadbare, from children playing racecars and the shoes of a thousand visitors, a letter from an old friend. Tonight I am taking inventory, making lists of the things…

More than just being informed, we need to be involved. “Mom, have you seen the news?” my son asks between mouthfuls of cereal at the breakfast table. He is reading an article about the Ukrainian nuclear plant fire. He then turns to another article, this one about refugees pouring into…