Tripping Up The Maine Trail

Tripping Up The Maine Trail

It’s buggy in the Maine woods, the mirror image of the sky in shit shit shit…   Ahem. Excuse my language. I was dictating deep thoughts into my iPhone as I ran through those Maine woods and tripped over a tree root. With the impact reverberating through my hurt...
Island Girl – or Island Grandma?

Island Girl – or Island Grandma?

  “Do you have grands?” The tall, tan woman was holding a baby in her arms. Huh? It took me a moment. Me? I’m too young to have grandkids! “Nope. My kids are only 9 and 12.” Her kids (late 20s, early 30s tops) were cooking...
Stealing from “Steal Like An Artist”

Stealing from “Steal Like An Artist”

I run because I don’t have it all figured out. Because sometimes, despite how much I’ve learned, my sense of purpose seems like a moving point hidden in killer fog (sometimes, it’s the whole damn fog bank). I run because when I do, my lungs demand to...
This Is Maine, Baby

This Is Maine, Baby

Ethan and I were walking to the car in the pouring rain. Booms echoed somewhere out in the dark, sharper and more rhythmic than thunder. “What’s that noise?” I asked. “Gun shots.” “Really? Someone’s just out there shooting in...
Lightning Strikes Once

Lightning Strikes Once

It doesn’t rain in California–at least not often–but in Maine, the storms come in with a fury, sunlight one moment, darkness the next, the heavens ripped wide open. Yesterday, the thunder claps reminded me of a Rip Van Winkle record my mom...
A Traveling Gypsy At Heart

A Traveling Gypsy At Heart

My great-great-grandmother was a gypsy, traveling around Germany selling pots and pans out of the back of her family’s donkey cart. When a fair-haired German farmer saw this dark-eyed beauty at the town marketplace he said, “Die will ich!” That one, I want....