Callie Feyen

I want to write something about this book of mine that’s coming out, but I keep thinking about the night before the return to school after winter break.  All three of the Feyen girls’ lunch bags were opened and drying on the kitchen counter, and a cinnamon candle was lit to combat the two-week old cucumber smell that was festering… View Post

“Mrs. Feyens I can’t work today because I’m not doing good because just now Maya tried to kill me on the tire swing.” “I did not try to kill you,” Maya says calmly, scraping nail polish off her nails. It’s hot pink with glitter in it. I like it. “Killing doesn’t happen in school,” Joe tells everyone. “Throwing up does…. View Post

Each month, I write a little column for my district’s newsletter capturing a little of what goes on in the libraries I work in. Here is this month’s essay: I was in 5th grade, in Ms. Savage’s class (Savage is an unfortunate name for a teacher, but I liked her), and we were cleaning out our desks, catching up on… View Post

In the women’s bathroom at church, there is a border of wall paper running just below the ceiling with the words, serenity, home, creativity, simplicity, and beauty on it. The words are printed in what looks like a medieval font, so there’s a seriousness to them; a sacredness to them. I read them while I’m waiting for a stall and… View Post

Hadley is making oatmeal, and I’m frying eggs for breakfast when Jesse walks into the kitchen and says he’s going for a run. “I wish I had time to run,” is my encouraging response. “How about this afternoon?” Jesse suggests pulling a hoodie over his head. I pull butter from the fridge, slice a pat off, and drop it into… View Post