prayers for us all
fitting new faith on top of my old Continue reading “trust” »
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respect for change
January 17th, 2017
it’s about respect
I’ve been looking at the red book for Adult Children of Alcoholics. It’s a handbook put together by young adults who grew up with similar home situations as mine. Continue reading “respect for change” »
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not disintegrating
January 10th, 2017
learning not to cause the fights isn’t easy
“You can’t keep pain in your body,” my friend observed about me, after I described my part in a family drama a few years ago. I didn’t understand at the time, but now I see a real need for changing my behavior. Continue reading “not disintegrating” »
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it is what it is
January 3rd, 2017
we are the same
For ten years, Lindy has resided in her current longterm care facility without receiving a card or a visitor. It took a few hours to drive up from the Bay Area, enough time to remember our girlhood friendship and consider she’s been locked up forty-nine years. I came up with nothing new. Continue reading “it is what it is” »
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my old friend
December 27th, 2016
I wrote my first manuscript for Lindy, my best friend from junior high school. Lindy was placed in a mental institution in 1968, and still lives in one. California made her a ward of the state, and she moves wherever the state wants her, not always notifying family. Authorities considered her release to some type of halfway house fifteen years ago, but it didn’t happen. Continue reading “my old friend” »
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roots of confusion
December 20th, 2016
My grandmother Brown was in her eighties when she moved from Baltimore to live with us. She had nowhere else to go. Neighbors helped my mother convert our garage into her bedroom, with a portable heater. My grandma shipped her stuff in moving crates to Tiburon, and somehow I was in charge of unboxing, deciding values of things I knew nothing about. Continue reading “roots of confusion” »
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loose cannons
December 13th, 2016
smoking weed started off as fun
Lindy was my best friend in junior high and I spent the night with her almost every weekend. Her room had double French doors with brass handles opening onto a tiny porch, enough for two sleeping bags. I memorized the sparkling Richardson Bay skyline looking out toward Sausalito streetlights. Standing like the Supremes, we practiced Stop In The Name Of Love, moving in unison like we were on stage, synchronizing arm movements, making stop, like Diana Ross. Continue reading “loose cannons” »
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what is coming?
December 6th, 2016
birds in flight
William Butler Yeats wrote The Second Coming in 1919 in the aftermath of World War I . Continue reading “what is coming?” »
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comforting branches
November 22nd, 2016
eucalyptus heaven
I felt at home in every inch of a twenty-foot eucalyptus bending over the gully bottom behind our house. Too high to jump, I hugged that tree like family, scooting along limbs, petrified of making one deadly mistake that might break my neck. I crawl-walked monkey style, maneuvering my arms and legs around the gnarled cross branch up to my safest nest, carrying my dolls in my teeth, like a wild orphan, looking down at my friend like a giant. Continue reading “comforting branches” »
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my own bullfight
November 15th, 2016
Pancho had a temper and looked like this
Pancho was the name of all the bulls who lived on the Reed Station ranch in the 1940’s and 1950’s, before our Tiburon subdivision was developed. I knew Pancho’s successor as a child. He was mean, didn’t have a nose ring, and lived in the lower corral up the dirt path from our house. I walked up to the corral, leaned over the fence and watched him stand around chewing dry grass, staring straight ahead. Continue reading “my own bullfight” »
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