Last Sunday afternoon during our weekly walk on Totoralillo Beach—a three-minute drive from our home—I found a piece of sea glass. Emerald green, like a Sprite or Perrier water bottle. Still more glittery than glistening. Not cutting-edge sharp, but not rounded smooth either. I’m reminded that, like writer-blogger Bernadette Noll, “I want to age like…
Is anything more exciting to a writer than a new notebook and pen? Or to a child-artist than a fresh box of crayons? The other day while packing, I came across the green-and-yellow tin of 64 Crayola colors. One of my first acquisitions (as a collector not a kid Picasso), today it holds my hot-glue…
After viewing my constantly growing collection of kitchen tins, a church friend in Coquimbo mentioned (with a smirk) that he’d seen me on TV—some program about hoarders? Although we enjoyed a good laugh at the joke, I asked myself, How did I come to be known as the tin collector in my town? In Chile…
