I could be referring to the blast of cherry blossoms, tulips or cottonwood. Or this week's bluster of rain and wind. Instead, my thoughts are full with planning for the release of Beyond the Ripples, my debut Oregon-based novel, in just a few weeks. Above all else, I feel such gratitude for the support I … Continue reading Bursting into May
Gratefulness
Teach our children well: a story about trillium
I keep meaning to get to that next novel. Write it, that is. (The one that lies in wait, somewhere, inside me.) Instead, other words infiltrate my not-still brain, urging it on with a different, pressing demand. Another blog. My brain is obsessive. It rapidly composes, adding words to one another, making it hard to … Continue reading Teach our children well: a story about trillium
It’s the end of the trail
End of the Oregon Trail Interpretive & Visitor Center, Oregon City, Oregon It may feel like the end of the trail, somedays...but don't take me too literally. My final scheduled book reading and signing of My Music Man will be at the End of the Oregon Trail Interpretive and Visitor Information Center on Saturday, March … Continue reading It’s the end of the trail
Let’s talk about It
I was going to write a blog about It. Then I read a piece by Atwood, and I didn’t have anything else to say. She said it all, more eloquent than anything I could craft. Fears about It lurk in my dreams and during my awakening. Heightened as I think about our children. Earth as we have known … Continue reading Let’s talk about It
You come back, again and again
The woman cutting my hair admired my ring three days ago. I told her I got it from you. I didn’t say it was from your finger, a moment after you took your last breath. When I first put it on it felt foreign: a large jade stone. The one you impulsively traveled downtown to … Continue reading You come back, again and again
Places of thanks
Smells and images: exhilarating, filling, haunting. Before, After and Now. Snippets of memories. What happened? What didn’t? Who is to say? Then. Buckets of sand, gulls cawing, shrieking wind and penetrating rain. Feet sink deep into cold, wet sand. Salty tide pools warmed by fading sun. Sand pushes through cracks between my toes, into my nails. I extract … Continue reading Places of thanks
Diaries, notes and letters: leave ‘em laughing
I just finished reading the memoir Educated by Tara Westover. I found it both hard to put down and upsetting: yet, more than anything it fed into my own brain ramblings about family stories, and how differently each of us retain memories during our lifetime. A third-grader at Chloe Clark Elementary asked me a profound … Continue reading Diaries, notes and letters: leave ‘em laughing
Returning to place
Does place pass through us, from those who came before? I suspect it must. Yesterday was my 30th wedding anniversary. I spent the morning with energetic, bright, curious kids - none I had met before - and the afternoon and evening alone. And although I love my spouse and was disappointed that he couldn't join … Continue reading Returning to place
Even when you call me Mother
It was the moment she referred to me as her mother. Although I knew she had suffered a tough week, I recognized a subtle, uncomfortable invitation into a new place. A different stage of life, for me – her daughter - and for her. I was also confused: I thought I had already stepped well … Continue reading Even when you call me Mother
Unplugging
Yep. I admit it. I'm a bit addicted to my screen. Having returned from a few days unplugged in the beauty of Mt. Hood National Forest and adjoining wilderness areas I am even more fully aware of my reliance on it for work, life, writing. This realization took me back to October 3, 1981. My … Continue reading Unplugging
