Originally published in Scribes magazine He grabs her arm when they leave the curb. Says crossing Highway 1 is dicey. “Art Festival time.” She knows that. She knows aficionados clog the neighborhood en route to the amphitheater. She knows that’s where they mold people into famous paintings. “Living pictures,” they call it. Isn’t the opposite …
Originally published on CC&D In the 40’s it took 10 minutes for men in coats to drill into housewives’ human bone like needles through thick wool to block sniveling and drive forbearance. Expose the brain like flattened soiled diapers to curb fretting and implant composure. Dump alcohol into the cavity, cracked eggs into a well …
Originally published in Friday Flash Fiction She pushed a red pin through Sandakan. Once, they had both dreamed of seeing orangutans in the wild. She had made it happen. She had stood on fertile ground and watched them feast and frolic inside a breathing jungle. When it was time to leave, she had flown over …
Originally published in Cerasus Magazine Salty spray smacks both bony knees. Shrieking in delight, four-year-old me retreats to my smiling dad, churning foam and sand as I muscle through. From shore, mom watches, perfect-posture regal. A pale hand shades her roving eyes. She’ll pounce if things get bad. White froth cups and tugs my browned …
Originally published on Sojournal I’m a planner. Always have been. I keep lists and lists within my lists. I covered one kitchen wall with chalkboard paint to accommodate schedules and reminders. On each flight home from vacation, I brainstorm the next. Naturally then the Tanzania trip was methodically arranged and while my husband was eager …
Featured in Intrepid Times Four hundred feet above the column of ships waiting to enter the canal, we crossed the Bridge of the Americas to begin our winter escape in earnest. As Jeff and I climbed through steep Caribbean pines, rolled past arching ferns, and dropped into the sea of airborne palms in Almirante, I …
Featured on Scary Mommy, February 14, 2020 Garbage bins sat stuffed with plastic tumblers, paper plates, disposable cutlery and cardboard. So much cardboard. Each birthday gift my son had unwrapped seemed hermetically sealed inside the stuff. As I hosed down the patio, attacking gooey blue frosting and greasy mozzarella with the strongest nozzle attachment I owned, …
Featured on Scary Mommy, March 13, 2020 I have shared more adventures, big and small, with Pam than any person outside of my family. We met in middle school, remained close in high school and college, and served in each other’s weddings. We have never lived more than twenty miles apart, text constantly, and know virtually everything about …