Cutting. Rolling. Coaxing her clawed fingers, ravaged by arthritis. Once they held whisper-thin needles, stitched intricate tapestries, bathed her six children. Today, her hands can barely roll the meatballs, barely get the tray into the oven. But they will. It’s her birthday, and once again the house will be full.

Sarah Barbo isn’t sure how to write a clever, amusing bio even though she hopes she is those things sometimes. She does love to write. Find her in the Colorado mountains and at sarahbarbo.com.