Erin O'Mara

If you think "cereal" can be classified as soup, we can't be friends. Really. If you see me on the street, just scoot on by. Don't make eye contact that will lure me into thinking you know where cereal belongs in your kitchen and where soup fits in your life. Don't say hello.

Dear Santa, I'm feeling salty and it's not because walking through Harpswell's mineral-laden sea air is like a day at the spa.

Nine high school juniors leaned toward the screen to hear a guest speaker share that he was born blue, spent weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit, and had his first experience with homelessness when his mom took him from the hospital. His introduction to life was full of struggle.

My parents downsized, sold their home and moved, and I found a trove of tributes to my father as I helped them purge.

Do you remember long, slow summer days that meandered and stretched on a gentle, endless path? Do you remember making your own fun and recruiting others to join?

It's wedding season! Tents are up on lawns, caterers are hustling to plan the perfect farm-to-table feasts, and brides and their maids are configuring outfits down to the smallest detail.

There's a business communication exercise that asks you to consider what you mean when you wish someone a "great night" and what you think that person understands.

I have a blue baseball hat and, in the center, where a team logo would go, it's embroidered with the image of a glass of wine. Everything about this hat is optimistic.

Spring conjures one miracle on top of another. Life's groundswell happens beyond our senses, so it's in motion before we pick up the signs. I imagine a sorcerer, like Mickey Mouse in "Fantasia," conducting nature's orchestra.

It's not often that a young, 20-something woman gives thanks to God for granny panties, but on that day, I did. I'd just started my first-ever truly adult job — the one that would launch my career and social life and get me off my parents' payroll.