When I was in second grade or so, my class sang the old song, “My Grandfather’s Clock,” by Henry Clay Work. The lyrics to the first verse and chorus are My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf,So it stood ninety years on the floor;It was taller by half than the old man himself,Though […]
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It was about this time last year that I watched a hawk chowing down on his lunch. I’ve seen hawks flying this year, looking for prey, but I haven’t seen them catch anything. I wonder if the voles are gone from behind our lot. Theresa HuppTheresa is the award-winning author of historical fiction about settling
I recently read Amor Towles’s The Lincoln Highway for one of my book clubs. His wonderful A Gentleman in Moscow is one of my favorite novels of all time, and I had high hopes for The Lincoln Highway. Unfortunately, I was disappointed. I’m glad I read the book, and I liked the characters . . .
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I’ve had to wear my snowboots recently. When I drag them out, I am reminded of the emergency trip to buy them in Whistler, BC, in December 2011, when my old boots fell apart. And I’m then reminded of my daughter breaking her leg in February 2012 on another trip to Whistler, which in turn
I recently learned that January is National Oatmeal Month. We eat a lot of hot cereal in our family. What about you? What’s your family’s philosophy on oatmeal? Theresa HuppTheresa is the award-winning author of historical fiction about settling the American West. Before she turned to writing, Theresa was an attorney, mediator, and human resources executive.
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I’ve only agreed to iron a shirt for my husband twice in my life. Once was the day before we got married, for our rehearsal dinner. That one I did, as pictured above. The other was the day I went into labor with our second child. That shirt I didn’t iron. I told him I
“If you don’t quit, you will succeed.” —Don Vaughan from “The Seven Pillars of Freelance Success” So don’t quit. When was the last time you felt like quitting? What did you do? Theresa HuppTheresa is the award-winning author of historical fiction about settling the American West. Before she turned to writing, Theresa was an attorney, mediator, and
I learned to ski during my college years in Vermont, as part of the P.E. requirement to graduate. It was January 1974, and the temperatures hovered around two degrees. Despite the cold, or maybe because of it, the snow base was only fifteen inches. On top of the snow was ice, and underneath was rock.
On cold evenings, I think about soup, one of my favorite meals. Add bread and salad, and you’re ready to eat. I make most of my soups in a crock pot, so it’s a quick and easy dinner (though does require some thought around lunch time about what’s for supper). A crock pot full of
One winter morning a few years ago, I grumbled about the Midwestern cold and ice. Snow from a few days earlier had melted just enough to leave a glaze on walks and driveways. I fell on the ice and injured my wrist. So that morning, I bemoaned my bruised and sore arm and wrote in
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