Thursday, October 16, 2014


don't let it goof up your happiness. you're finding it. just smile and say that you have a great life. make it an ally. the important thing in life is people. changing your attitude is the hardest. you don't like it and you're becoming super aware of it. if you fight it, you're dead meat.

Thursday, September 25, 2014


A food line wraps around a patio. Busy season at the fish shack by the falls. An arm wraps around a book. My arm. My book. I hear a voice in my left ear. "What are you reading?" a woman asks. A memoir about a woman adopted as a child, an infant, really, by a family, a woman, really, who wanted her own children, really. (The word really eases the explanation.) The author is British, I tell her. She's well known, I say, and pass the book to the curious, kind woman wondering about a book wrapped in an arm in a line for fish. Others have a hand circling a pint (I should too, I think). Curious, kind woman points to titles listed inside the book. "I've read this and this. And this one was very good," she says. I know only the one back wrapped in my arm. The author and I have a thing in common, I say. Both of us were adopted by women who really really really wanted their own children. The woman's husband (he has a pint) looks me in the eyes. His appear moist. She really said that? You really know that? Yes, she did. Yes, I do. People who really really really want their own children should probably not adopt, I say. He appears worried. It's all right, I tell him. I graduated from therapy, I say, and glance at a menu posted on the patio. I would really like to order something different this time I tell curious, kind woman and worried husband. You? We'll get what we always get, bay scallop tacos. Really? Me too. They're the best. 

Friday, August 8, 2014

3 Encounters

#1 Homer sits down next to me on a couch. There are many other couches to choose from. He asks me questions about the book in my hands, the beliefs in my head. Are you a skeptic, he asks. You're as pretty as Christine, one of our important speakers, he says. I smile with the compliment's energy behind it. Don't get too excited, he says.
#2 Believer drives the taxi taking us home. His was chosen for us. While driving, he shares his story of long journeys to and from places near and far. He speaks English and French. I speak French (sort of) too, I say. I visited west Africa (one country only and not the one where he was born), I say. Excited, he asks me to marry him.
#3 Ed looks at a vintage photo of an old hotel. I approach and point. That's me there, I say. Kidding, of course because I'm too young to be in the picture. He is not. He worked there then. Decades ago this photo captured him (maybe, it's hard to see faces) carrying food and drink on a tray to Ben (or friends of Ben at the sin city establishment named for a pink bird). Don't look at the tray they told him. Excited, he says he didn't. Good man Ed.