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A few weeks ago I found some goblets at my favorite antique store, “The Crooked Willow” just outside the little town where we work, Osakis, Minnesota. One of them was undoubtedly my Dad’s glasscutting work. I knew this would happen one day; and I often looked at antique stores to find crystal etched by the…

“One Day At A Time,” my mug tells me, steaming with licorice tea. My daughter, Emily gave me that mug shortly after my dad took his leave. Dad died four weeks ago, a mere 91 years old. Letting go of him, was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life. Holding…
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