First-person narratives based on real human experiences. The moments that change us. The relationships that define us. The lessons we carry forward.
At 9:47 that Monday morning, three weeks after my father’s funeral, I sat at my kitchen table with a mug of coffee gone cold and... Read more
At 3:12 in the morning, nineteen days after they cut my daughter out of me, I woke to the strange quiet of a house with... Read more
At 2:47 on a Wednesday afternoon, three weeks into my recovery at Tulley Creek Rehabilitation and Care, I watched a locksmith kneel at our mother’s... Read more
Forty minutes into my husband’s funeral reception, still in the black dress I had worn to bury him three hours earlier, I opened the little... Read more
I own a cabin on the shore of Alder Lake, three hours north of where the rest of my family lives, tucked into the birch... Read more
I am thirty-four weeks pregnant, and for three weeks running, my address at night has not been my own bed. It has been the back... Read more
My wedding dress disappeared forty minutes before I was supposed to walk down the aisle. Hanging in its place was a gray maid’s uniform, pressed... Read more
Standing on the porch of my parents’ river cabin that Labor Day morning, I was tuning my 1961 Vega Tubaphone banjo while the sun broke... Read more
The lights over checkout lane four buzzed the way they always did on a Saturday morning, a little too bright and a little too blue,... Read more
The whole classroom laughed when my teacher said my mother was probably just a desk clerk who liked airplanes. I was thirteen years old, standing... Read more