A Friday Night Sit

A mental health patient on a floor reserved for the elite’s new hips and knees; well, he wasn’t welcome, to say the least. They build a wall of nurses; wary of aggression, of bother—and put unsettling eyes on him while he wanders the night. He speaks an endless monologue; and engaging is exhausting, talking about…

The Road Out of Frankfurt

I went back in January, 1992. The draw-down of troops had begun after the fall of the Berlin Wall and real estate was going back to the Germans– to be completed by 1995. Forces, including civilian employees, were leaving. My first stop back was Alt Sachenhausen, our popular hangout of heavy metal music and heavier-handed…

My WaPo

I really do have trouble with this. Writing, for me, has been a therapy exercise. In execution and publication. The Write is therapy for getting out the things that are stuck in my head and trip me up as they linger there. The Publication is therapy for a couple of my fears: Recognition and the…

The Rest of September

Rice Krispie air?  No, not yet! She is waiting.  Running out onto the porch with the trash to check, every morning.  Not yet, she knows it’s near, and so she waits.  Just the beginning of cooler weather in the mornings, just the very beginning, and she is impatient for temperatures to fall. She remembers the…

Next World Leader, in Miniature?

via Daily Prompt: Miniature I remember vividly when I broke the news about the presidential election in 2008, and the democratic nominees, to my then ten year old daughter, Abby.  I knew, even though so young, she had developed her own unique and strong opinions, and that she would appreciate the fact that a woman was…

Revelation: I’ve been a scared-ass writer

When I was a kid, I used to love the high dive.  I don’t mean the “higher” diving board, we had that, too.  I mean that solid, grey-brown block of pounds and pounds and pounds of smooth concrete, with the ladder that reached to God, Himself.  Never look down while climbing up.  Walk to the…

Why I support Black Lives Matter

It’s the bottom rung, folks…the last of a series of rungs and the furthest from the top. And so we must make it the beginning, where else is there to start from? We must recognize this bottom rung, and build up from it.  We cannot entrust goodness and prosperity, fairness and justice to the trickle-down…

on violation and shame: a letter to my children

I am violated.  I am ashamed. You may not think this affects me; a straight white girl of very modest income bordering on non-existent income. A white girl far removed from Missouri, Florida, Louisiana, and now Texas;  and all the other numerous places of violation and shame. A white girl safe in her small village,…

Well, damn. Find the love, people.

I was looking deep into the depths of the bytes of my computer today–and stumbled onto something I’d written a while back.  I’ve decided to post it due to the recent horror that this country has experienced. I have also decided to not look up the time stamp, as I’m not remembering WHY I wrote…