Jude is my retriever whose “golden” characteristics went askew.
An angel of an oak was quilted. There it was, like a painting.
I read every word in The Post and Courier connected with Pat Conroy’s death.
Darrow, Freddy, Pete and I were standing on the corner of Ditmars Boulevard and 77th Street in Queens, New York.
I wrote an article for The Post and Courier two and a half years ago, called “Finding Joy, Losing Joy, Finding joy Again. The switch from a ...
It was Saturday morning, Feb. 7, 2015. I awoke with the sun shining through the windows. I was looking forward to another beautiful day.
So, I wake up one morning to a rash best described as inspired by the devil. Scratching did nothing; topical ointments did nothing, either. ...
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