The Makers

Makers keep showing up in my life. You know, the people who translate ideas and mismatched parts into physical things. A car. A coffee table. A thriving business. A killer dress. I birthed a Maker. My eldest son tinkers and toils with his hands—happier that way than any other. I take no credit. My father’s…

The blank page speaks

I call it the tyranny of the blank page. I also call it the miracle of the blank page. How that plays out is up to me more often than not. I can tell myself that blank page will mock me because what I fill it with will not be good enough/smart enough/has been said…

Got brave. Forgot the beret.

My brand new painting is gracing my laundry room. I’m not saying “my” because I bought it. I say “my” because the artist is moi. Take that, Mary Ann. For the uninitiated among you, Mary Ann was my third-grade nemesis in art class and one of the reasons I’ll never understand the term “art therapy”….

Candidkay gets brave in a beret

Not too much scares me. And what does scare me I, I’m sure, also scares many of you. The thought of losing my home. A medical test gone bad. Root canals. But each of us has our own quirky sense of the terrifying. Say, for instance, the photo of Shel Silverstein on the back of…

The starving writer

Dentists don’t have this problem. Maybe I should have been a dentist. Or an accountant. Accountants don’t get asked these questions. Our expectations are low for accountants. I made the fatal error of sharing in my online dating profile that I am a writer. And I haven’t been able to have a decent restaurant meal…