Author Archives: mabujones

We ask ourselves and each other this season what makes us feel grateful. We are told It is better to give than receive. So why then, do I hear so often a kind of grudging appreciation for or a disbelief … Continue reading →

When I was in high school, one of the best surprises was to come home and find my mother’s friend, Sophia, sitting on the couch, smoking cigarettes, and gossiping in a throaty voice, her high heels kicked off and her … Continue reading →

As writers, we look for meaning in just about everything. Our lives are woven with metaphors and significance, often in objects, random images, or bits of conversation. We wonder what’s underneath the surface, and, because we are writers, we ponder … Continue reading →

I have been refurbishing my kitchen cabinets. No small feat, given they were built by hand in the 1940s by someone who apparently enjoyed eyeballing the measurements. One of the issues was the top facings that attach to the ceiling. … Continue reading →

Narrow Conversations When I was in college, a journalism professor gave an assignment to keep a journal. Not a radical idea, but the further instructions were to choose one subject and keep to it throughout the semester. The professor gave … Continue reading →

I was raking the leaves yesterday, clearing away the decayed vestiges of last year’s foliage even as this year’s leaves flaunt their newly minted green. The idea of a tidy forest floor is actually an oxymoron. No one rakes in … Continue reading →

In this extraordinary moment when we are gathering ourselves up from the years of a pandemic, a war is now ravaging Ukraine and, like all wars, the world beyond. April is poetry month. What can a poet say? As poets, … Continue reading →

Holding on is the work of this day. We are all trying to keep track, stay steady, manage our everything. And then we spill something, arrive late, can’t remember. The pandemic, the war, the social rifts we struggle to process … Continue reading →

Beginning a novel is like the start of a romance with the spark and daydreams we enter, and a world newly created. Middles are like creating our own maps, the kind early explorers made who half believed they might fall … Continue reading →

Last week a storm snapped off the top of a 100-ft white pine and slammed it down behind my house, pinning the back door shut. Remarkably, nothing was damaged. I now have a giant octopus with 30-ft limbs sprawled across … Continue reading →