An honest look at the beauty of being delightfully offbeat—and why our quirks just might be the secret language of joy. Dear Frank, Everyone within confiding earshot of me lamentably knows that I was once described as “quirky” by a mean-spirited soul.
Dear Frank, You would have enjoyed this morning. Mitzi’s been staying with me some — which I love — and she was in full porch-patrol mode, squinting into the sunlight like a sentry guarding the azaleas. She’s perfected her squirrel-surveillance stance:
Dear Frank, You and I have mused about a lot of things, and today seems like a good day to talk about pedigree. My family had a solid pedigree, though it was never something we leaned on or led with. My mother,
Dear Frank, I was listening to a magazine article this morning, while in the car. It was about a woman, a writer, who poured herself into caring for a dear friend with a terminal illness. She adored her, and because of
Dear Frank, You may remember when my son, David was 14, and his teacher, beloved-yet-strict Mrs Spain gave the students the assignment to write a character sketch. Remember who he chose? His uncle - My brother David! I came across his essay
A Letter to My Friends in Texas I’ve started and stopped this so many times. There’s no real way to write through a sorrow like this. I keep thinking of you, my friends, the families I’ve known for years — having
Dear Frank, Do you remember that party we went to where we played that “two truths and a lie” game? I threw in that in my 60’s I had lived in a pup tent on the beach for a short while,
Dear Daddy, It’s Father’s Day, and even though you’ve been gone a long time, and even though I didn’t get to know you in the way I wish I had, I wanted to write to you. After all these years, my
Hi Frank, Some stories are just too bizarre not to be true. Wait’ll I tell you this one! I was in my mid-20s, living alone for the first time in a bright, beautiful Dallas apartment, and loving my single life. I
Forgiveness is a holy act—but it’s not always tidy. For many of us, the struggle isn’t in the idea of forgiveness. It’s in what to do when the person who hurt us won’t acknowledge the truth, or when others pressure us