Category Archives: Memoir

Frost circus, Portland

Posted on February 20, 2019 by

Peeling potatoes I took off my finger tip and imagined a piece of it there among the red bliss skins in the sink, something small and pink you’d find on a beach. But it got me out of cooking, and … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Sunday’s flattened head

Posted on January 20, 2019 by

On the five-hour drive to Brad’s cabin I kept it cool in the car to stay awake, to keep my cold tolerance up. Driving across the state to the east, how it all flattens to farmlands and big skies, windmills, … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments

The day I turned purple (2019)

Posted on January 12, 2019 by

After 10 days without drinking, the swelling in my lower gut finally went down. A balloon losing air. On Monday I was offered a new job, and on Friday I turned in my laptop and said goodbye. The January bugs … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , | 28 Comments

Peace and distance

Posted on January 11, 2019 by

On the day Bowie died, I drove from Stratford to a small town where I met Tish Farrell, a blogger friend. She made lunch and we talked about writing and traveling, and then I said goodbye and drove back down … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments

Launch

Posted on January 9, 2019 by

In the morning when Dawn starts the electric kettle it sounds like a rocket about to launch, slowly building pressure until it snaps free from the launch pad and lifts off. She pulls it down by the handle and sets … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, prose | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

N/A

Posted on January 2, 2019 by

I woke at 5, brewed the coffee, and lit a candle. Maybe the first morning in two years I’d woken without any alcohol the night before. I’d done a dry January enough times now, I’d developed some nostalgia with it. … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 22 Comments

On Sundays and holidays

Posted on December 30, 2018 by

We spent the aftermath of Christmas on Whidbey island, a town called Langley, so idyllic they still have phone booths with free local calls, wild bunnies, signs in the shop windows promoting inclusion, views of the water, a bell to … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 17 Comments