Earlier this week I listened to three former American Presidents eulogize John Lewis.

It took a few weeks, but I can no longer watch the news of the country I no longer live in.

Just weeks before she died, digital thieves snuck in and stole my mother’s identity.

It all started with a first-grade field trip to a tiny library that had once been a one-room schoolhouse.

Once the last cedar shingle had finally been nailed in place I removed the staging planks, the roof brackets and then the flimsy improvised staging.

Before the equatorial sun reaches the point in the morning sky where the heat builds and hits you like a forge, I cycle up into the pastured hills to check on my new garden.