My grandmother’s house smelled of dust and cedar. Of Nina Ricci perfume with hints of Johnson’s Baby Powder and Bain de Soleil. I still smell it. I still see her salty grey hair, her curls gone wild, her lips never without lipstick, always the color of her beloved red geraniums.
photo by Lewis Collard http://www.lewiscollard.com
The Journey of Magic and Miracles
A teacher's thoughts on preparing teens for life
tearing down the strongholds
Literature by the Lit Up
Five true stories, every five weeks.
CRIME WRITER
Relatively.
It's just my point of view. Love it or hate it.
betcha can't read just one
Dog mom problems, but not really...
Digging through relics while becoming one myself
"It's all storytelling, you know. That's what journalism is all about. " Tom Brokaw
A literary tour of the USA
Read. Think. Speak. Write.
Home of Lukas Kondraciuk Photography
Starting Write Now 