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Or, so some readers said when I started appearing online without a certain headpiece. A raffia crown, tied up with a faded ribbon.

I remember when I found my first—and still my only—Helen Kaminski. In a city not unlike the one in which I type. Ordered blocks that marched down to cold water. I wandered into a Victorian arcade, a layer from another time, and I lifted her off the rack, and I slid her on. Continue Reading

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I was late. MTM and I were both working in Nashville, and we shared a car. I tore into Nashville’s West End, past Vanderbilt’s grand entrance, on a mission to pick MTM up from a meeting before he scolded me.

My turn was up ahead. On my left. I forgot my blinker and skidded into the turn lane. The landscape changed while I waited, lit from within by a brightness older than Time. Continue Reading

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For 34 days, I told you my stories. About hiking 444 miles on the ancient Natchez Trace. About spending five weeks with my almost-80-year-old father. About the ghost of Meriwether Lewis. About how To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis came together.

As I limped up to the end of my 34-day walk of the Natchez Trace, I wanted to read YOUR stories, times in your lives when you wanted to quit but didn’t. Your comments, your sharing made it a universal celebration of success. I’m fortunate to know so many tough, dogged, resilient people, to call you my friends.

Thank you for filling the last few miles of my Natchez Trace walk with your richness, your humor and your joy.

I signed one book at the finish line. Milepost 442 on the Natchez Trace. I used that book for a special task: my very first author reading.Continue Reading