I must’ve been about eight when I popped the fateful question “Mommy? Are we rich?” My mother turned from the stove, wooden spoon in...

Unlike my native Flemish, in which you’re simply called a tombstone maker, the English language offers two grand words to describe my...

Once a week, on Friday mornings, all of us boys at the Catholic primary school would troop down from our first-floor classrooms, one...

To this day, whatever part of the world I’m in, I still can’t walk by a graveyard without some pause, without at least a furtive glance...

Growing up, every child gets to hear these stories, of cats pouncing on mice, dogs chasing cats, then comes the wolf, and so on. Stories...

So here I go, a fool's worth of words, let's see if the void persists.