Moving back to the mountains of North Carolina meant not eating my beloved Frogmore Stew, but then I made a discovery.

We comfortably share our home with many large, wild animals, but the scariest creatures in the woods are quite small.

The dog didn’t eat my homework, but exploding oatmeal and broken water lines sure interfered with my novel writing this week.

We focus so much on epic events, but sometimes it’s the smaller things in life that are the truly important little stories.

Just when I was getting a good night’s sleep—a rarity—a 2 a.m. shriek shot me out of bed and into a night of frustration.

As we honor the men and women who gave their lives while in uniform, my Memorial Day gratitude seems an insufficient thank you.

Nothing is better than a cheerful server in a restaurant, even if they make a mistake or two or three. After all, attitude is everything, right?

I injured myself last week. Stupid, I know, especially when I can only call it an old injury in celebration of my approaching birthday.

A simple walk in the woods last week took a turn when an old nemesis stalked me and I found myself at a choke point.

Moving a microphone on my desk took two minutes. The cascading project required two hours. You could say this got out of hand.

Needed an expert opinion to solve a problem. Upon further review, the experts disagreed and clashed. Does that sound familiar?

Is it the reader or Earl and Wanda who get their just deserts at the end of this story about desserts and an unusual adventure?