“Read this,” she said. So I did. She’s our professional writer and her critiques of my offerings for my biweekly RJ blogging gig sting me

I am writing a film review of sorts, although I couldn’t tell you the last time before this that I had entered a theater and

Distance hides it a bit but not too much. I checked the rearview and braked hard to turn south on Forest Road 513. An afterthought,

Reliable reporting (United Nations, National Public Radio) is that 30,000 Palestinian civilians (mostly women and children) have been killed by Israeli soldiers in Gaza since

I woke up all sorts of lazy and dull. They were back from their walk, these two grad students. One worked for me years ago

They ran the brush-hog late along the edge of the prairie. Winter-rank fuzzy stubble stems bristled from a beating off with a dull blade. An

I was going to be so productive. I was going to get ahead on things

The big news on the creation-care front was that we, in North America, woke up to newly-revealed final language in the COP28’s First Global Stocktake

What do you suppose you’d find, to root around in that walnut-sized brain for a while? It’s a pathetic nod to self-care I suppose, but