This is the gift

Yesterday, on the bike path, pedaling home from a stint at the Kickstand Cafe with my computer, there was a small group ahead of me on the path in sunlight that looked almost dusty:  A mother – or grandmother – and a child. Like it would have been when I... read more

The Butterfly Glass

I can see it. We’re sitting at a table, with a cheap waterglass and a set of watercolor paints. I’m about to go to a birthday party and I’m probably 4 or 5. My mother is painting an exquisite butterfly onto the bottom of the waterglass.  She says... read more

This is What You Get

Years ago – it could have been on Mt. Olympus, but I think it happened in Stockton, California – my mother fell in love with Larry, the man who would become my stepfather.   In the myth, she knew he was the one and … Oh, never mind … it’s... read more

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