I have often wished in the past few years that my mom were here to help me as I raised my own teenage son. As a girl, with my own mom, I thought I knew it all; now I know better. Somewhere, I know my mom is smiling.

He is a man, and he is afraid. This is not a good combination.

I can be a little OCD when it comes to my writing.

It was the Magic Hour, the moment in time when every leaf and blade of grass seemed to separate, when sunlight, burnished by the rain and softened by the coming night, gave the world an impossibly beautiful glow.

I guess no one stays friends for more than thirty years without broken hearts along the way.

When you get . . . to the end, you see that love and family are all there is. Nothing else matters.

I'm an insomniac lately. It's one of the many prizes you find in the Cracker Jack box of a crumbling [relationship].