The voice is alto, and it is a voice that has never fully understood its limits. It belts out the first strains of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to the church audience. Three hundred eyes widen. It is not a singing voice. I know this now as I stand and sing a tribute to my mom. […]
Speaking on “Why Our Stories Matter.”
A two-pound bag of Hershey miniature chocolate bars is stowed safely by my mom’s Lazy Boy where she sits during the day and sleeps at night. She says with conviction that she never eats them. But I can see by the shrinking size of the bag that someone certainly does. As mom’s caretaker, I fret […]
