Lily, born today and growing up in that little house in West Seattle behind the Sub Shop #9 and the corner bar we never once visited, Chuck and Sally’s.
The art is what you can’t explain about why it made you feel the way it did.
And I just have to think, to consider the amount of loss I’ll feel when everyone is out of the house and it’s just me, positioning things exactly as they should be.
And I wondered what it thought of all this ornamentation and this fuss: this cruel ending.
Our lives become a summary of our decisions: the actions we take (or don’t take) that make us who we are.
Outside it was warm and the lupine stalks were bending down, some on their faces like mollusks gumming the ground but not making it very far, frozen mid-suck. The dog smelled bad, a telltale bad like she’d rubbed herself in… Read More ›