Category: Non-Fiction

Once on a shopping trip with my wife while we were feeling the exhilaration of knowing that money could be spent, unnecessary things could be purchased, life could be decorated, we bought a large colorfully painted ceramic frog....

In my second year of college – What? Yes, we had electricity but no internet or cell phones. Mid-1980s. May I continue? In my second year of college, there was a girl with Goldilocks wavy hair that I admired from afar. This was...

In 1991 I was sharing a five-thousand-square-foot loft with a friend of mine in downtown L.A. The building was located in an industrial area on the outskirts of town. Most of the buildings in the neighborhood consisted of old...

A young mom sat with a child on her lap. The sharpness of her image cut across the sandstorm of happy bodies at play on the summertime beach. It was her silence that spoke louder to me than the ruckus of keyed up beachgoers. She...

One night in the park a yearling doe was trotting sideways through early snow over still green grass dancing and pausing, dancing and pausing like a baby Paso Fino testing new ground She held her head upright as she played...

The definition of hell was being a woman in the 1700’s. I never thought about this until I read The Frozen River by Ariel Lawhon. This author pulls no punches regarding the severity of how women were disrespected, attacked and...

My son was never into toy cars, not even when he was a little kid. I always thought all kids liked stuff they could throw or move around, so it was kind of strange to me. He had this massive collection of fancy toy cars that he...

Sitting by his bed in the quieting room, I take his hand, hold it despite the shock of how cold it is. His chin rests on his chest, eyes stare straight ahead at something I can’t see. Each breath is an effort, an event, a...

From down this black pit where my heart is sped/ A sombre universe ringed round with lead/ Where fear and curses the long night explore. Baudelaire   In writing about Edgar Allan Poe, Baudelaire extolled his genius and...

My husband rubs his back against the park bench, decompresses after cramped confinement in the sound-proof booth. I study the lines of his audiogram, spikes like cloud-to-ground lightning, plunging deep into the valley of severe...