Barbara Swander Miller


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Honoring the journey—then and now

  • Election Day eve

    By Barbara Swander Miller I can’t sleep. I turn, wriggle, twist and sigh. Too much news coverage I suppose. Not that they’re reporting anything new, really. Why  can’t I just ignore it all? The wind whooshes  outside our bedroom window. I hear the maple swaying, imagine its wet leaves littering the ground and front walk,…

  • Who are your people? Google them!

    Genealogy has had an oscillating presence in my life.  Sometimes its fan blows straight at me and keeps me cool and comfy; sometimes it blows in another direction, and I just catch a slight waft of the gentle breeze. Over the years, it’s depended on the amount of time I’ve been able to invest in…

  • Call me sparkle toe!

    Even though I’ve  never worn  glittery tops  with letters  that flash my   undeniable   school pride,  and Even though I   loathe finding   tiny flecks   of glitter stuck   to my otherwise    plain shirt   after opening    my craft closet,  and Even though I’ve   been stuck in   the filthy mire   of the news   and its portents   of doom, haunting …

  • Glass and houses as curriculum?

    What do whiskey and cigarettes have in common in my life?   No, they’re not my coping mechanisms at the end of a stressful day.  What about Kellogg’s cereal, Hershey’s chocolate, and the US Bureau of Engraving and Printing? Still stumped?   As a child of the 1960’s, I toured these manufacturing facilities with my family during…

  • Friday’s phone call

    Hi, Grammy! How was your day, sweet girl? Medium. Medium? Tell me about it. Well, I didn’t like being hit in the head with thirty-five balls today. What! All the girls were screaming and crying and huddled against the wall. What was going on? The boys were throwing balls … at our heads. Oh! Ohhhhhh,…

  • The worst poem I ever wrote

    Thirty-some years ago, finally divorced after months of marital and individual counseling and hours of agony trying to understand it all, I was settling in my hometown with three kids and a regular visitation schedule to their dad. Alone, every other weekend, I had nothing to do, except fret and wonder what was happening while…

  • A week of reads

    Some Good; Some Not So It was only a week, but it seemed as if I’d been dozing, sneezing, coughing, and bingeing on historical dramas in print and video for forty days and forty nights. Like a baby with its days and nights mixed up, my sleep schedule didn’t help. I drifted in and out…

  • The downside of multi-tasking

    Another Kind of Canning Pickle Teachers can do anything, can’t they? I used to believe that teachers could tackle nearly any job and do it with aplomb. I mean, who else is adept at managing up to 150 kids in various grades and abilities, creating engaging lessons and activities to keep 90% of the class…

  • Time Is up

    We were in the mud of testing. State Testing. The down and dirty that ELA teachers  lived and dreaded  in the first few weeks of school, after showing tips, sharing tricks, drafting, drawing, hoping, and praying  our sophomores could engage and remember— and score high enough   to graduate. Their desks were spread apart, facing forward.…

  • A dog’s life?

    Shooting over the deck rail across the lily bed lightning fast straight to the corner  where the sage and yarrow bloom, Eliza darts through my space. She’s on the chase! It’s a rabbit! Probably the one that’s been eating my carrots and cutting my flowers. The cunning creature needs no siren. It bounds  out of…

Barbara Swander Miller

Honoring the journey in everyday life

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