There is a hole in my husband’s jeans from the time he climbed over a fence in rural Oregon. Rusted strands stood between him and a white farmhouse that we hoped would have gas or a person willing to give him a lift to a … Continue reading Favorite Blue Jeans
“My peers could have been models for Laura Ashley. I wanted to be like the woman in Wyoming.”
Between the gumbo and the beer, we map our funerals on a paper tablecloth at Fisherman’s Corner. Our waitress remembers us from May. “Kids are the ones who scribble on the sheet,” she says, “Aren’t you the one who bit into a pearl?” “Yeah, it’s … Continue reading A Light Lunch
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