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Category Archives: Memoir
Mother’s Day is one of those arbitrary proclamations that hit many of us with a hail of mixed emotions. My mother is gone, and my only child far away, and I know that I am not alone in finding the … Continue reading
After we hiked for several hours in the backcountry, my friend welcomed me into her home for shower (with some poison oak soap) and a nap in her guest room. I didn’t bother to unmake the bed; I just got … Continue reading
It was 1971, late summer or early fall, and in my memory the day is cast in an amber kind of glow, all warm hues and soft edges. I was twenty years old, a college dropout, still snagged on some … Continue reading
I was walking with my two tall girlfriends in a sunny seaside town. Roses and bougainvillea spilled over white fences, shops brimmed with odd collectibles, wind chimes sang and sea glass mobiles glinted. We stepped over the chalk outlines of an … Continue reading
How you stand here is important. How you listen for the next things to happen. How you breathe. (William Stafford) “How you fall is also important,” says my friend Nyuol, who is twenty-six but very wise. “If you fall, … Continue reading
Our calendar was unexpectedly blank for the day. No one was counting on us, no tasks were urgent, and our irrelevance felt like license for a field trip. We recruited our old friends Kit and Beverly and set out into the misty … Continue reading
Yesterday I went for a walk with my friend Cornelia. It required that we climb a few hills, face down a brisk wind, thrash through brush and foxtails, step gingerly along bumpy uneven ground, and even clamber up a creek bank once, holding onto … Continue reading
Over the years, I’ve been following the work of an artist friend, James Griffith, who has lately been making extraordinary paintings using the medium of tar–”primordial goo”– from La Brea Tar Pits. James has always demonstrated remarkable skill in creating exquisitely detailed … Continue reading
When I told my friend Dorothy I was trying to overcome my muteness, she wrote to me about white lilacs. In their brief season, she said, they are “white like brides, with less than a month of blooming, not questioning … Continue reading