Like I’m Saying Goodbye

This photo was taken about a thousand years ago before John and I were married. I was NorCal to his SoCal and our weekend was over; our time was up. I was headed home, even though my new home was his heart. When I hugged him goodbye, it was a thing, a breathless thing.  …

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Bed Head

  It’s Friday and I’ve been in Guatemala since last Sunday. I haven’t washed my hair yet and its so dirty I could form it into a topiary. This is fine because not only would I look good at Disneyland or fit right into the Edward Scissorhands film, it makes bed head even more fantastic….

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An International Women’s Day Perspective: Shovel Ready

    In the foreground of this old black and white photo, my Grandpa Pete is standing in the dirt, his arms are folded, and he’s relaxed, leaning on a shovel. On his head, a newsboy cap, on his face, wire-rimmed glasses and a humble confidence. A matter-of-factness. In the background is a saw horse…

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Perfect Moment

I don’t make a habit of saying it very often, but every once in a while I say, “I’m having a perfect moment.” I don’t say it much because, honestly, perfect moments are rare. I’ve been here over a half of a century, so I’ve racked up a lot of moments—great moments, average moments, stinky…

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Strangers in the Car Wash

  Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, I watch my slippery red, driver-less Mini Cooper inching by, smoothly transitioning from huge sudsy brushes and cloths.   A man walks up, stands by my side, stares at my gliding Mini, and speaks. I do not know him, and there’s no one else around:   He:…

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Rebel Without a Name Tag

  I hate name tags. At an event, I’ll put one on if I must and even if I do, it will eventually accidentally on purpose fall off. Faulty safety pin or whatever. While I typically am pretty good at knowing why I feel a certain way, I don’t know why I loathe the tag….

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Open a Can

  Portland is a foodie mecca and I make it a point to fit as many meals into a day as possible, when I visit my daughter’s city.   At the downtown “Grilled Cheese Grill” food truck, it’s a sunny afternoon, 4:30 pm:   Standing, enjoying my pre-dinner sandwich, “The Hot Brie,” which personally I…

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Beat-down at 39,000 Feet: The Chicken Flight Fight

  Getting ready for another Central American adventure, remembering lessons learned~   Borders   I was familiar with The Chicken Flight. Pollo Campero is Central America’s answer to KFC, and many Guatemalans like to pick up a bucket when they’re flying out. I loved my work with IMA, the girls’ school in Guatemala City, so…

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I know She Happened

  I dreamed of Stacie last night. But I don’t remember the dream.   It’s 3:08 a.m. I just woke up and as much as I try, I can’t grab it. I just have the flash of her face and the fact I got a little visit from her.   The anniversary of Stacie’s passing is…

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Bare My Sole

  “I don’t love you anymore.” The words stung as sharp as when I’d stepped on a bee that one summer day with my tender, bare feet years before. Faces forward, he and I sat side by side on a single wooden bench against the back wall of my parents’ house on Reed Road—only now…

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