Sunday, August 31, 2008

Night Fear

Faint thunder grumbles. Scout the dog pants and rattles the baby gate keeping her and her sisters downstairs. She is terrified. This is not the Scout we're used to; the Scout in no big hurry, the Scout who sleeps with all four feet in the air. But tonight, at midnight, three and four, I am trying to convince her that nothing bad is about to happen.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Bad Kitty

Waking up, I hear thumping. It's not familiar. Not the dogs banging out the back door's doggie flap; not the cats being actively bored. I go towards the sound, and it looks as if some stupid elf has been throwing my hiking boots around the room. Billy the cat is playing with a baby mouse, still alive; his brother Bob sits nearby, captivated.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Backyard Wild

Sometimes I wandered to the back of the yard—away from the house full of my mother, father, brother and sisters. Between the boxwoods and azaleas, I found a hollowed out space like a cave. There was only room for me, and I was invisible. I pretended I was in the middle of some wilderness, communing with it, holding my own.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Summer Nights

On the hottest summer nights, we sprawled on top of our sleeping bags on our parents' bedroom floor. It was the only room upstairs with an air conditioner. My father wanted nothing more than for all of us to just go to sleep, but the cool air made us giddy. We kicked and poked each other, and tried to laugh without making a sound.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The Great Rinse

Rain falls in a tumult and I remember my favorite rain, the dead summer kind I watched from my childhood wraparound porch. If the wind blew, I backed up as far as I could to stay dry. If it was a still rain, I sat on the steps. It was like a great rinse of the world I knew, the shiny black streets under light posts. And I felt cleaner, too.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

A Clean Shot

A dry, cold December 30 years ago, I went with my father to the woods. The sky was grey and pink; and all was silent. We were deer-hunting. I couldn’t possibly ever find those woods again, or our place in them. I was a child, bundled and waiting for any sight or sound. My dad also waited—for a line of sight, a clean shot, a chance.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Church Bats

The big Baptist church across the street from our home had a lush, green courtyard. On summer nights, the neighborhood kids would gather there and run around with no clear purpose. Sometimes I stopped running and lay breathing in the grass, watching the warm sky. In the glow of church lights, bats flew crazily across the square.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Morning Sun

We visited the convent in Philadelphia when I was four; my Great Aunt Libet lived there. It was summer and I remember rabbits running across a big green lawn. I also remember having a room to myself for the first time. But I wasn't afraid. In the morning, the bright sun lit up the white walls and I felt warm from the inside out.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Senora Cranky

It's humid like August, but the light feels like October. The wind pushes big clouds across the sky. I labor on my bicycle like a dying mule. It's like reentering my own body after a long, long time away. I shift gears searching for some hidden pow. Like a blessing, a train roars beside me, and for a moment I forget to suffer.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Breakfast in Bend

I was living 3,000 miles from home, and nothing made it more special than the snow. Virginia wasn't like this. I was alone in a new way, making my own breakfast, listening to Saturday morning public radio. When it was time to take my dog for his walk, I bundled up, opened the door and we stepped out into the soft white.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Ice Water

It was my job to feed our family dog. Reb, our lonely English Setter, lived in a pen at the back of the yard. In the dead of winter, I pulled on my father's down coat and his very large work boots to make the cold walk out back. On the coldest nights, I used the heel of one of those boots to smash through the ice that covered Reb's water bowl.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Animal Kingdom


Billy the cat sits on my African drum, looking at Lula. Our dog Lula chews on a nubby bone. Lula dug the bone out of a basket, where all of her toys are. This is how she self-entertains; but when it all gets too much for her, she howls like Chewbacca from Star Wars. Billy just watches, amused.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Great Aunt Alice

My great Aunt Alice just turned 100. I hadn't seen her in over a year. I became really close to her a few years ago, when she was 94 and still running her own household (and what a big house it was). She even shoveled the snow. But now dementia's hit. And this evening, when I came to visit, she was so excited to have accidentally met me.

First Post

Here's the deal. This is an experiment. As of late, writing's been the last thing I've wanted to do. I'm going to attempt to jump-start my desire to write by keeping it short (short time, short length). My motto is: Better short than nothing. And I've always been a fan of the short form. So here's to developing a new practice -- by breaking some rules and making different ones. All based on following my own nose. 

Here are the rules:

1. Write no more than 5 lines.
2. Write for no more than 10 minutes.
3. Try to do it once a day.
4. Try to append a bad drawing as often as possible.

Time to start my engine.