One of my earliest childhood memories finds me nestled in the back of a wood-paneled station wagon with my brothers and sister, crocheted afghans pulled to our necks, eyes fixed on the ceiling of […]
Books and Memories
Books and memories…for me they go together in a way that elicits feelings of love. When I look back as far as my mind’s eye will take me, I can’t see a […]
Home is My Church
Reflection: something that shows the effect, existence, or character of something else.”–Merriam Webster Dictionary By the time I was born, my family had all but given up church. My memories […]
The First Time I Was Raped
The first time I was raped was in the back seat of a car. I was 16. In those days the legal age to drink was 18, and underage drinking mostly went unnoticed. It […]
Home
When I think of home–I don’t think as much about place–as I do about feel. What does being at home in my mind feel like? For me it boils down […]
The Sort of Grandmother
My minds hand tugs at the line between now and then, one hand feeds the other and I watch as the past moves into view. It was a rainy autumn day. Even now […]
Phone Calls
It stems back to a different phone call. The phone call where I learned Jimmy’s mom had been killed in a car accident in a car that had made it’s own somersault launch from the freeway. We know it happens. We lived it. That is a phone call I never ever want to get again.
