I may be late to the FOMO narrative – you know, Fear Of Missing Out. In truth, it’s taken me years to sort out what this means. There are things one would expect: attending a favorite rock concert, tasting the perfect pulled pork sandwich, climbing … Continue reading In This Skin
Art House America gave a home to my essay about tanning hides and divorce.
During the Eucharist, my thoughts wandered to 9/11, the widows and widowers, the families, lovers, and friends, and what this liturgical season may mean for them. I realized that my closest friends are a hodgepodge of atheists and agnostics. Our friendship has never hinged on my … Continue reading Easter Rap
I am trying to give up anger for Lent. Outrage certainly has its use, but for months–day in, day out–this stuff is whittling me to a nub. If I could smoke pot for forty days, I would. Surely this would help. I vomited on November … Continue reading Dear World,
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