Our World Word by Word
February Food Musing
Greetings! I am a poet turned memoirist. I used to teach writing to kids of all ages, but now I get to write anytime I want.
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As a child, I was introduced to the world of food at my church. Even though my family lived in a cracker-box house in a far-flung suburb of Chicago, every Sunday we made the hour trek north to downtown Chicago to attend services at The First United Methodist Church, fondly called The Temple.
While some of my experiences at that church are a part of my memoir-in-progress, I’ve never written about one of the greatest gifts from my years there: an appreciation for world cuisine.
Because of its downtown location, The Temple gathered people from all over the world. At the monthly potlucks that are an important part of Methodist culture, the food offerings went far beyond American fried chicken and mac-and-cheese. I tasted Mrs. Chavez’s real Mexican tacos, Filipino pancit and Indian curry prepared by Miss Mani.
I didn’t know it then but sampling those foods at a young age planted a desire for food adventures that has never left me. When I had the opportunity to travel to Spain in 1973 with my high school Spanish class, I had my first chance to find such an adventure on my own.
I am still amazed at how much freedom our teacher gave that rambunctious group of American teenagers. She was our only chaperone and left us to roam the streets of Madrid on our own.
Spain was still a Fascist country under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco. There were no American fast food chains or stores. We had eaten a lot of jamón y queso sandwiches for lunches. Some of our group were homesick for hamburgers. We found a listing for a Whimpy’s Burgers in the telephone book and headed out.
The burger place wasn’t where we thought it should be but there was a restaurant. Starving by this time, we pulled open the heavy door of the building only to be confronted by a set of rickety stairs. Some of the group fled back to our hotel but the rest of us bravely trooped up the steps to find ourselves in a small café. We were the only tourists.
On the menu I found a listing for a tortilla española. Of course, I knew about tortillas. I’d eaten tacos wrapped in them. Mrs. Chavez had shown me how to make them. I also knew that Spanish food wasn’t like Mexican. So what could this tortilla mean? Instead trying to use my broken Spanish to ask the waiter, I ordered it.
When that tortilla came, it turned out to be an omelet crisply fried, filled with potatoes and onions. After one first bite, I knew was this was what I wanted for my life, this sampling new tastes, going up dark stairways to find where they led. This had to be part of my life.
Since that time I’ve traveled as much as I could. Often it was the word in my mouth that I loved first. I’ve ordered things without knowing what they were, but sometimes have gotten the names wrong. Once in France I ordered poussin (chicken) thinking I was ordering poisson (fish). That was an unexpected language lesson.
A very young lisa in Germany.
But on my first trip to Europe alone in my late 20’s, I ordered rinderzunge because I knew enough German to translate the rinder as beef. I figured out the second part of the word when I felt the texture: tongue. I had to lay my fork down after that.
That didn’t stop me. Even so, I haven’t enjoyed everything I’ve ordered since then. In France I found that I don’t like cerveaux (brains), but I love ris de veau (sweetbreads). In Venice, I savored fegato con cipolle which was much better than the liver and onion soup my mother used to make.
On my first night in Thailand, in my soup I found round balls that tasted rather like liver. They were strangely metallic so I ate around them. Days later on a market tour I discovered they were balls of duck blood. I also didn’t enjoy the morcilla (blood sausage) I tried on my last visit to Spain.
Those meals make great party conversation. Often people are aghast, asking me how I could put such things in my mouth. To me, it’s all part of tasting the world around me. I’ll never eat many dishes again, but I think of all the deliciousness I would have missed if I hadn’t opened my mouth to brave new flavors.
Today I dug out the notebook I kept on that first European trip. For the last two weeks I traveled alone in Paris and Belgium. I had to guard my money tightly. Every day’s entry listed whether I was above or below budget. And every entry described the foods I ate that day: a crèpe filled with coconut, Charlotte au citron vert, a type of bread surprisingly different from a baguette. Even the different sauce on the Big Mac I ate one snowy night when I got lost and wound up settling for but McDonald’s.
All those meals, good and bad leading me to a big pot of moules frites on my birthday in Paris last December. I’m still exploring our world taste by taste, word by word.
YOUR TURN
Try something new today (or tomorrow). If you love food, taste something you’ve never tried. Or perhaps you want to try a new cocktail, walk a path you’ve never taken or start a new hobby. It could be anything that you think might give you pleasure.
I’d love to hear from you. Let me know what you tried. Who knows - you might give me some ideas to try.
BOOK RECOMMENDATION
The Full Catastrophe, a memoir by Casey Mulligan Walsh tells the story of a woman trying to live her best life while facing devastating losses. Just released, you can listen to a fascinating interview with Casey on Lisa Cooper Ellison’s podcast, Writing Your Resilience. Find the listing HERE.
A Yearly Challenge and Looking for Madrid
Greetings! I am a poet turned memoirist. I used to teach writing to kids of all ages, but now I get to write anytime I want.
You're receiving this email because we've crossed paths in some way: at a writing residency or workshop, a reading, or just in the neighborhood.
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The Challenge:
It’s still January, that month for making resolutions. I don’t make resolutions anymore because it’s too easy to let go of them as time trudges on. However, I do believe in challenging myself. This year one of the commitments I’ve made to myself - and you - is to post a newsletter every month in 2025. I’m just making it in January!
The last time I made such a writing pledge was in 2014 when I joined a group of writers who agreed to write and post one haiku each day for the year. I did that almost every day that year. Some of my haiku joined others in Everyday Haiku: an anthology, edited by Kristen Kingman and published by Wandering Muse Press, 2017. You can order it here.
One of my haiku from that anthology reminds me of what writing means to me. So that’s what I’m focusing on this year.
The Search for Madrid:
Last September I traveled to Madrid for the first time I was a Junior in High School. Back then, I visited Spain with a group of students led by our Spanish teacher. That was about fifty years ago. At that time, Spain was still a dictatorship under the control of Francisco Franco.
That first international trip was pivotal in my life. It opened my eyes to the world beyond my little suburban home and made me the traveler I am today. While I’ve visited Spain in the recent past, I’d never returned to Madrid. Last year when I met a writer who lives there, I knew it was time to go back. I expected much to have changed after so many decades but I was sure my teenage memories of Madrid would find echoes in the present. How wrong I was.
I didn’t seem to remember much about Madrid at all. As I walked the streets of the city, nothing felt familiar. None of the ah-ha moments I expected showed up.
It wasn’t until I visited the Prado that I felt a flash I wanted. The long-ago visit to that museum was the first time I was surrounded by art. Although I grew up in Chicago, I had never been to The Art Institute. Art was not something my working class parents thought about. So, when I first saw Velasquez’s Las Meninas at the age of seventeen, a new world opened for me.
In September, pacing the halls of The Prado once again, I headed for the room containing Velasquez’s masterpiece. Before I reached the doorway I paused, hoping the magic would return. And I found what I’d been searching for. When I stepped inside the room, I knew exactly where the painting would be and what it would look like. I realized my memory was intact. I stood in front of that painting for a long time, taking it in once again.
Las Meninas by diego velasquez, 1656
This painting isn’t one of my favorites, but finding it was like rediscovering that American teenager who had just discovered the world. It reminded me of where I had been - and why I am still on this journey.
It’s the kind of journey I want for all of us, traveling this world in whatever way we find most satisfying. I wish for a full and creative life for everyone in whatever form that takes.
For me it means writing, for my sister Lori it is cooking. For my mother, who died in October at the age of ninety-seven, it meant gardening. She may not have introduced me to art, but she taught me the sweetness of a home-grown tomato.
This promises (is that the correct word?) to be a difficult year for many reasons. If you need a way to get you through, focus on how you are building your world.
PUBLISHING NEWS
I finally made it into one of my dream publications. My essay, “Blue and White” was published in the Readers Write section of The Sun. This essay is a part of my memoir (out on submission). The theme for that month was Misunderstandings.
It begins, My family called it “the wedding china”: white porcelain dishes with a pale-blue flower motif. There were two plates and two cups with saucers—just enough for a couple.
Published in September, this was the last piece of my writing my mother was able to read. For that reason alone, this is one of my favorites. You can read it here. To find my essay, you need to scroll down.
BOOK RECOMMENDATION
Jennifer Lang’s second memoir, Landed continues her journey as an American choosing to live in Israel because of her marriage. Like her first book, Places We Left Behind, Jennifer again uses many unconventional text and non-text structures. As she told me, she uses these to tell stories that can’t be shaped in traditional forms.
I believe this is an important book. By telling the story one woman’s life in a country embroiled in conflict, it reminds us that there is a difference between the government of a country and people living in that place. Buy it here.
What are you doing to live your best life? How do you nurture your creativity? I’d love to hear from you. Who knows - I might find a new way myself.
Bali Magic
Greetings! I am a poet turned memoirist. I used to teach writing to kids of all ages, but now I get to write anytime I want.
You're receiving this email because we've crossed paths in some way: at a writing residency or workshop, a reading, or just in the neighborhood.
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Explore: Bali Magic
Ever since my first plane trip to Spain at seventeen years old, I’ve been a dedicated traveler. That excursion with my high school Spanish class changed my life, and since then I’ve had other trips that were as transformative.
This summer, my tour of Bali led by Laura Davis, and Judy Slattum and Madé Surya of Danu Enterprises was just such an experience.
I had traveled to Bali before with Laura, Judy and Madé Surya in 2016. That trip was wonderful and made me want to return to Bali.
This summer I got that opportunity, sharing the experience with a great group of people and staying in some of the same beautiful locations as before.
The beach at Lotus Bungalows, Candidasa
My view from my cottage at Puri Lumbung Cottages, Munduk
While I had enjoyed that beauty before, somehow this trip felt deeper. I was touched by the peoples’ welcoming attitude towards this stranger visiting their country. I soaked up the color and energy in their art and dance, and in their everyday rituals. My connection with this place became more magical.
Like all human societies, there are problems and inconsistencies between the Balinese ideals and their everyday reality. There is poverty and discrimination. There is conflict. I don’t want to romanticize their society by ignoring these issues.
But the Balinese also create great beauty in their lives. They have a devotion to art and culture that is profound. A devotion I wish we all would emulate to enrich our spirits.
I especially love the offerings they make each day, some to honor their gods, some to help maintain balance and harmony in their lives.
Offerings to Ganesh. I learned to make the one on the left.
Dance and music and rituals seemed to be expected almost every day.
Madé Surya performing the Old Man’s Dance.
A procession heading to the temple.
Even now, a few weeks after my trip, I have yet to explain my feelings about Bali. The Balinese believe that everything in nature has a spirit residing within it. While I am uneasy with the word spirit, Madé Surya explained his belief in a way I can accept. He said there is a mystery within all of us. I can believe that. And so I can trust that my passion for Bali is a mystery I don’t need to explain. I can just enjoy it.
One day when I returned to my bungalow in Candidasa I found this heart leaf and frangipani flowers arranged on a table outside the door. How could I not love a place where someone created an offering like this for me?
I'd love to hear from you. What trips or adventures have transformed you?
Write: Memoir News
I’m working away on what I hope are the final revisions to my memoir, Half-Orphans: A Poet, Her Father, and the Silence Between Them. By the end of the summer I will start sending the manuscript out to publishers. Wish me luck! I’ll keep you posted on my journey towards publication.
Going back to Bali made me remember a poem I wrote while I was there in 2016, a year before my father died. This poem is part of my poetry collection, Always a Blue House (Saddle Road Press).
Buy it here at Bookshop.org
Even While Snorkeling in Bali
I float through blue waters, breath steady
in the tube. And here you are beside me.
I remember how you loved swimming.
How each summer you would strike far out
into Lake Michigan – Mother standing on the shore,
hand shading her eyes, afraid.
But you were never afraid. You swam true,
far out into blue water. Then, flipping over,
you floated long minutes before heading
back to shore. And I, once again, have slipped
from a boat into the sea. Coral waves and fish
dart past my mask, their bright stripes flashing
in the sunlight refracted through clear water.
Oh Father, how you would have loved this.
Read: Book Recommendations
The novel Beware the Tall Grass by Ellen Birkett Morris weaves two plots together: the story of a young soldier fighting in Viet Nam alternates with that of a contemporary couple and their young son who seems to have memories of a war that took place long before his birth.
Buy it here at Bookshop.org
The Deepest Lake by Andromeda Romano-Lax is a mystery/thriller that takes place at a writing retreat in Guatemala. I read this while I was in Bali. Luckily my retreat went better than the one Romano-Lax describes!
Buy it here at Bookshop.org
Season of Darkness and Light
Portland, Oregon sits just above the 45th parallel. Most people think of the 45th parallel north (if they think about it at all) as the halfway point between the equator and the North Pole, but the true halfway point is a bit further north. That doesn’t matter - Portland is pretty darn close.
San Francisco, where I moved in 1980, sits only 12 degrees south of Portland, but the light is profoundly different. I know this is caused by more than just the fact of north and south, but that’s the part I understand. I’ve driven the long stretch of Interstate 5 and flown from SFO to PDX enough times to actually feel that north-south pull.
I don’t know why I’ve become rather obsessed with the 45th parallel, except that I’m still getting used to the differences between the Bay Area and Portland. Especially the light - and dark.
In the winter, days feel very short here in Portland. Today it’s December 21, 2023, the Winter Solstice. Today I will see the sun set at 4:29 p.m. When I looked up the sunset time for San Francisco, I was surprised to see that it will occur at 4:53 p.m. Only a 24 minute difference, but a somehow a difference I notice.
I know many cultures celebrate holidays and rituals around lighting the darkness of winter. I celebrate Christmas with my family each year. But somehow this year is different. Somehow, this year I need light even more.
That’s why for my birthday last week, I decided to go see the Zoo Light displays at the Oregon Zoo. This is a very popular yearly event which I’d never seen.
Strolling through the zoo on a chilly December night with a bag of hot kettle corn (instead of birthday cake) looking at the light displays, and children and families oohing and aahing was just the light I needed.
I hope in this season of darkness and cold (at for those in the Northern Hemisphere), you will find a way to solace yourself and loved ones. How will you bring light into your life this Winter Solstice?
Some Poetry
Here is my prose poem, which was posted on the Silver Birch Press blog. I hope you read it, and if you feel inspired, please leave a comment or a like on the site.
Read it HERE.
Read My Brevity Nonfiction Blog Post!
I am honored to be a guest blogger on Brevity Magazine’s Nonfiction Blog. I woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. and was reading on my iPad when the Tweet came in. You might imagine that I found it difficult to go back to sleep.
You can read the whole post HERE.
What You Can Read Next
Most of you know I retired from a twenty-nine year teaching career last June. Stepping away from my job (especially during the strange time we’re living through) made me ponder. Now that I’m no longer part of the world of education, what I can offer as the teacher part of my blog title? And then I thought about something that’s been important to me my whole life: books and reading.
Books got me through many difficult times as a child and young adult. And they are offering the same solace now. So let’s talk about books.
When we began sheltering at home because of the pandemic, perhaps you found that your reading rate went up. I know I’ve been reading these days. I decided to stay away Amazon as much as possible and support local independent bookstores and small presses. The books have piled up, but so has my pleasure.
Three such books gracing my nightstand come from my favorite small press, Saddle Road Press and the press’s new imprint, Two Fine Crows Books.
Both Saddle Road Press and Two Fine Crows Books are run by Ruth Thompson and Don Mitchell, talented writers themselves.
Of course, I’m grateful because they published my poetry collection, Always a Blue House.
But today I want to recommend these new books from Saddle Road Press and Two Fine Books to add to your own collection. Order one or all of them from Bookshop.org to support an independent bookstore in your area.
Face: A Memoir by Marcia Meier.
This book asks readers to consider what is a face? It is the question the author had to confront from the age of five after a traumatic accident left her face partially disfigured. As she chronicles her journey to recovery, Meier invites us to consider how important our physical self is to our sense of identity.
Join Marcia and Don for a conversation with other Saddle Road Press writers on February 20, 2021. You can find the Zoom link HERE.
Shibai: Remembering Jane Britton’s Murder by Don Mitchell.
In Japanese culture, shibai means "drama," or "play," but in Hawaiian slang it means "smokescreen," or "bullshit." In this book, part memoir, part true crime story, Mitchell weaves together the brutal 1969 murder of his college friend, and the long-term ripples it has created in his life. Along the way he struggles to understand what is truth and what is shibai.
Heart’s Compass Tarot by Tania Pryputniewicz.
This is the first publication of Two Fine Crows Books. Whether a Tarot expert or beginner, this workbook offers the reader the opportunity to dive into the world of Tarot in a playful, creative way through journaling, writing and art projects. (I have taken many of Tania’s Tarot workshops, and you will find some of my artwork in this book.)
Join Tania for her book launch Sunday, February 14. This will be a panel discussion with some of the artists (including me) featured in her book. You can find the Zoom link HERE.
This beautiful post from Brainpickings helps explain how important reading can be: Mass, Energy, and How Literature Transforms the Dead Weight of Being.
And finally, I was excited to hear that Levar Burton of Star Trek: the Next Generation fame has been named the Inaugural PEN/Faulkner Literary Champion for his contribution to the world of literature. I used to show his Reading Rainbow videos (yes, back in the days of VHS) in my ELL classes. Check out his podcasts: Levar Burton Reads.
I’d love to hear your thoughts. What has reading been like for you during the pandemic?
Day 82 Sheltering in Place; My Last Week
I love to keep records of ongoing events: 2,484 days of daily morning writing; 82 days of sheltering in place; 204 days of studying Italian on Duolingo. I’m not sure what it says about me other than I’m a bit obsessive.
Yesterday, day 204 of studying Italian, this sentence popped up for me to translate: La prossima settimana e la mia ultima settimana. The next week is my last week.
And it’s true.
I’ve been counting down to retirement all school year, even after Covid-19 forced teachers and students to leave schools and begin our new adventure in distance learning.
A few weeks ago, I donned my mask and gloves to clean out my workspace, to give away books and recycle papers I had thought I couldn’t live without. Until the end came. I finally got rid of lesson plans saved from year to year. I shoved all the mementos I received from students into a box, now sitting in my garage.
What will I do with the set of three white elephant statues given to me so many years ago that I have no memory of the boy’s name (I do remember they came from a boy) who gave them to me?
Along with the World’s Best Teacher plaque (again the giver’s name is lost) and a letter holder brought back by some child from Jordan, they represent all the students I taught in the 23 years I spent as a middle school teacher.
And what about the envelope full of portraits of me drawn by kindergarteners accompanied by letters thanking me for helping them? As an instructional coach, I spent the year with them and their teacher, working together to nurture those young children into writers.
So, tomorrow will be Monday, June 8, 2020. The day that begins the last week of my job. In five days (another number) I will be retired after having spent 29 years working as a teacher and coach for Jefferson Elementary School District. Almost half my life.
In this troubling time with so many people suffering, it seems selfish to feel this is a sad time in my life. But retirement is a rite of passage that deserves contemplation and celebration. I just never thought I’d be marking the end of my career via Zoom or sitting six feet apart from friends.
When I began this blog in September 2011, in my first post I asked the question: Teacher/Poet or Poet/Teacher? After I retire, I can still claim poet but what about teacher? What will I say instead? In five days, I’ll have to ask myself that question. At least I’ll have plenty of time to think about it.
April Fool's Day # 15 Sheltering in Place for NaPoWriMo; 46 Days to Work
Oh boy, April Fools Day. This may the perfect day to read that California schools will maintain “at-home” instruction for the rest of the school year as reported on SFGate.
For me this means that I’ll end my career as a public school teacher sheltering in place at home, working at a desk in my bedroom instead of one of the classrooms where I’ve taught and coached for the past 29 years. Who knows when I’ll be able to go back to foggy Daly City?
Thank you, Covid-19.
But I’m determined not to let this nasty virus to take complete control of my life. To that end, I say Happy National Poetry Month!
For poets and poetry lovers around the world April 1st marks the first day of National Poetry Month as well as National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). It’s been a few years since I’ve participated in NaPoWriMo, but maybe this year I can manage to squeeze out a few poem just to spite the nasty virus.
For this day, I offer a post I wrote five years ago. It heartens me to remember how this poem was born. A revised version found its way into my book Always a Blue House.
National Poetry Month: April 1, 2015
It's that time again: National Poetry Month which means I'll be participating in NaPoWriMo once again. Last year I posted a haiku on my blog every day in April. This year I'm determined to post different types of poems each day.
And if any of you want to write a poem to me, I'll post your work as well.
So taking courage in hand (who in her right mind would post poems when they are newborn?), here goes.
Day 1:
Washing Dishes
White shards shattered,
scattered over the tile floor.
The plate flew past his head,
like in a movie
she had once watched,
like she had often imagined.
How it started doesn’t matter.
A bird trapped in her cage,
approval the worm she craved.
Not his half hidden glance
as he turned away,
derision written in the curve of his lips.
As she wiped that plate dry,
warm from its bath,
porcelain smooth,
this time her hand
knew the reply
she had never dared.
Day 2 of Shelter In Place; 55 Days Until Retirement
Today this Instructional Coach:
Participated in 2 video Google chats with members of the Teaching & Learning Department
Participated in 1 video Google chat with 1 teacher
Collaborated with 1 coach by phone
Talked to 2 teachers on 2 different Zoom calls
Received and received innumerable emails
Spent 4 hours searching for online sites and other resources teachers can use for their at-home instruction
Read that Governor Newsom suspended state testing for this school year
Read that Governor Newsom said California public schools may be closed until the end of the term
I took this photo the last day I spent as a teacher at Ben Franklin, June 2014. It probably looks a lot like this today with teacher and students sequestered in their homes.
The Road to Retirement: Sheltering in place while Always a Blue House travels without me
As of today, I have only 56 days to work until I retire on June 12, 2020. As of today, I am working from home because here in the Bay Area we’re sheltering in place due to the covid-19 pandemic. As a teacher I spent many years practicing emergency drills with students, including sheltering in place. I never would have imagined that we’d actually be participating in such a wide-spread event. What a strange way to end my career in public education!
Another change: this is the first time in decades that I didn’t make plans to travel abroad during summer vacation time. I thought after 29 years following a school calendar I’d be able to travel in any month I choose. Well, covid-19 may have grounded me for some time. How long? None of us know right now.
One place I’ve never visited is Costa Rica. That’s because summer is their rainy season. I figured it would be a good place to visit after I retire. One of my writer friends just went to Costa Rica and honored me by taking Always a Blue House with her. I can take solace in thinking my book traveled even it I can’t.
Last Day at La Muse, Labastide Esparbairenque, July 2019
Le Montagne Noire, Languedoc July 2019
Stone walls march
up the mountain side
beside cliffs of the same
granite. Stone chipped
and stacked by hands long gone.
Walking the gravel road
I can almost see them, those farmers
hands calloused and bleeding,
carrying tons of rock
to surround their fields.
Here in the mountains,
under the deep dome of sky,
time drips slow honey.
Chartreuse lichen and succulents
with flowers blue and yellow
cling to surfaces, not caring
if nature or human-made.
Bees rise up buzzing,
hours hang sweet in the air,
apricots waiting to be picked.
At La Muse Writing Retreat, Labastide Esparbairenque, France
swallows dip and sway
wings spread under tattered lace
sky blooms wide open
Sea Ranch Poem
My friend and sister AROHO alumna, Esther Cohen writes and shares a poem every day. As she says on her blog, she tries to write about “what happens every day (some days notwithstanding) most often, in a poem. sometimes, with sentences. maybe every once in a while, with a picture of SOMETHING”
I read every one of her offerings and marvel at her bravery sending her newborn words out into the world. But Sea Ranch is a special place alive and vibrant. The sun has finally come out after days of fog, giving me a bit of courage.
white light
summer night
moon spills
across my pillow
let me rise
with Jupiter
in the horizon
let me walk
the meadows beside
sea cliffs, waves
crashing far below
Sea Ranch June 2019
What more could I possibly want in a location for a writing retreat than some friendly sheep and beautiful wooded paths?
Poetry Guilt - National Poetry Month
For the past few years I’ve participated in NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month), writing and posting a poem every day (or almost every day) for the entire month of April.
This year I just couldn’t do it. Hence poetry guilt.
But today is a beautiful spring day here in the Bay Area, and I need to remember that poetry will come again. Besides, when has guilt ever done any good? Instead why not offer up this poem for spring.
Bee Song
we sisters
visit one sticky
yellow center
then the next
nestle our striped
fuzzy bodies inside
search for sweet
syrupy beads
rolling in pollen
till we clothe our legs
in gold
we sigh and hum
come sing with us
raise your face to light
soak in nectar ecstasy
mingle your hands
in blossoms
crabapple spring
—from Always a Blue House
Clearlake, CA.
scalloped clouds floating
washed in opal twilight
we surely become pearls
—from Always a Blue House
A Memoir Publication
If you had told me when I started this blog in 2011 that it would lead me to writing nonfiction, I would have scoffed. But that’s exactly what happened.
A few months ago I discovered Longridge Review, a journal that is an evolution of the Essays on Childhood project started by editor Elizabeth Gaucher. Longridge’s mission is “to present the finest essays on the mysteries of childhood experience, the wonder of adult reflection, and how the two connect over a lifespan.”
I’m honored to have my essay published in their latest issue. You can read it it online here: Snowsuit Prisoners.
Sweet Home Chicago
Chicago two flats.
