Racy Red Ridge–Kelly Jacobsen
Poetry: Silky smooth Slipping slowly Covertly covering Scar tissue hot red On delicate alabaster skin blood against snow Fiery crimson lingerie Definitely deceptive Rough ridges rise Revealing the ruse No
Life and Death–Georgianna Marie
Memoir: My son took his first breath. “It’s a boy!” the doctor and nurses shouted, laughing and smiling. They handed his premature, wriggling body to me. “Hello there,” I said,
Blood Red–Jennifer Nightingale
Poetry: They waited in line at the Dollar Store He bought a red balloon made of mylar. It was blood red and shiny, filled it with helium and tied it
Ode to My Husband’s Hearing Aids–Claire Weiner
Poetry: Sorcerer of sound, Eros whose arrow points directly into my beloved’s ears, I adore you. Minuscule, featherweight, miracle! You rest so lightly on the flesh of ear canals, transmit sound
The Have Nots–Sue McGrath
Memoir: “Is someone knocking at the door?” I asked. Bob and Max considered the sound. “Yes, I think so,” they agreed. Max surreptitiously walked to the door. Through the vertical
Dementia as a Blessing–Karen West
Memoir: Nothing surprises me anymore when I visit Dad at the nursing home. One day he was sitting in the lobby in his wheelchair wearing skimpy lime green track shorts
Joie de Vivre–Corinne Hughes
Memoir: I’m smiling from ear to ear when I decide to move to a tiny town in eastern Washington with my abusive partner, away from my family and everyone I
The List–Georgianna Marie
Memoir: I’d been divorced twice and had a child out of wedlock. I was in no mood for marriage. I did want to date, though. I fantasized I’d meet a
Gratitude Unchained–Jim Stewart
Nonfiction: Ah, gratitude: a simple way to honor the place in which you find yourself; an emotion that encompasses the breadth of a life and lights the sometimes stony path
Gratefully Grieving–Kelly Jacobsen
Poetry: Hiking along rugged, tree-lined trails Deep sobs emerge from hidden woods. A scent of gratitude fills the frosty air. There is peace in surrendering to sadness. Fighting against the
Song of Gratitude–Margaret Chula
Poetry: Love the Kamo River, its waters turned blue from rinsing the indigo dyes of kimonos. Love the hummingbirds. Love the koi who swim like kings even though, without their
Encore–Georgianna Marie
Memoir: We hadn’t performed together in over 35 years. Yet here we were, about to go onstage in front of nearly 100 people. The 1979 Encina High School Madrigal Choir
Falcon Cove–Georgianna Marie
Memoir: We had planned to go to Europe that summer. Then a pandemic happened. Unable to fly overseas, my husband and I strategized: How would we escape the stifling Arizona
The Stranger–Georgianna Marie
Essay: One summer vacation, a stranger appeared at my family’s front door. It was 1960, the year before I was born, so I wasn’t there to see the puzzled look
Recipe for Camping–Karen LaGrave Small
Recipe for Camping: Fiction Have fun camping! Living off grid, no cell service, no heat, no fluffy bed, no teddybear. What to take? Not much. Leave your house. Bring your
Dream Vacation–Stevie Stephens Burden
Prose Poem: Tourists, jammed into their cars, RVs and our streets, wander, looking for the perfect experiences to capture the construction of unforgettable moments. Spending hard earned time and money
The Nutty Vacation–Ellis Conklin
Fiction: On the night before we set off for the Russian River, my sister had a nervous breakdown. She was young then, a thin, nice-looking girl of seventeen, and had
Dog Days–Andy Barker
Fiction: Day One We canines live in the present; if something impacts us, it remains in every moment of our lives. Such is my first day at the beach. The
Always the Wind–Julie Young
Memoir: “This infernal wind!” Mother complains between her teeth. She shakes her head, her entire face a frown as she looks out the kitchen window at tall grasses lying flat,
Joni’s Wind–Ellis Conklin
–after Joni Mitchell’s Carey The wind swept up from Rockaway Last night I couldn’t sleep Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here, Mary But it’s really not
Trailblazers–Tom Lackaff
Play Excerpt: (EXT: WHITE HOUSE, JANUARY 1803 – EARLY MORNING. On the muddy street, a PAPERBOY hawks his wares.) PAPERBOY Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Napoleon blocks Americans from
Rain Pants–Cyndi Stuart
Essay: Overhead is a beautiful blue sky. I can feel the sunshine warm my back. I think about reaching up to take off my snug fleece stocking cap but decide
John F. Kennedy–Ellis Conklin
Essay: All of us know where we were and what we were doing upon learning that John Kennedy’s life was severed in that glaring Friday noontime in Dallas. That moment
Chance of Rain–Tom Lackaff
Fiction: The rain poured down with a relentless vigor, an elemental force that had always been there and seemingly always would be. Fortunately, I experienced only its sound as it
Rain Dance–Katja Biesanz
Fiction: Everyone else was in the hangar, playing cards while waiting for a break in the clouds. Therese sat on the straw bale under the eaves of the office/bunkhouse. Drops
Incoming Storm–Neal Lemery
Essay: The next storm is somewhere out there, just waiting for its time to move onshore, disrupting my life, making me aware, once again, that life happens despite of what
How to Survive a Storm–Barry Paul
Poetry: Stand strong in the rain for fear falls on us all. It drips and pools, tickling uncomfortably down the spine, exploring each gap in our defenses, before trickling to
Backfire–Mark Scott Smith
Poetry: Backfire on the mountain Brake lights glowing red Tires whirring in the rain cast silver beads of water across the misty highway Hank Williams on the radio A Lucky
Weather–Marcia Silver
Poetry: A powerful storm . . . will sweep through the Northwest today with locally heavy rain, possibly excessive. NOAA National Weather Service Website Paint your walls the color of
Rain, Rain, Go Away–Ellis Conklin
Fiction: As it happened, I was passing through Rainy Springs, Oregon, that rain-swept evening when I met a peculiar woman named Lola. It was late October and I hadn’t seen
The Colors of Childhood–Megan Lucas
Memoir: I attended Irvington grade school in Portland in the 80’s, and we lived nearby on the cobbly Tillamook Street. It was lined with Chestnut trees; in the fall I’d
Why There is no Brown in the Rainbow–Lynn B. Connor
Fiction: The Sun chased the Clouds from the sky. “The earth below needs my rays to warm the days and make things grow. I should rule the sky,” said the
Synesthesia–Iris Sullivan Daire
Memoir: Color has had a hold on her for as long as can be remembered. From a young age it was noted that she often changed clothes several times a
Season’s Greetings–Tom Lackaff
Oh spring, I pray you will endure Another ode to your allure; Still shadows harbor ice and snow, But loyalists to winter show Their colors when the heat is on,
My History of Wall Paint–Kathie Hightower
Memoir: I grew up with white walls. And I wonder now, didn’t everyone back in the 1950’s and 1960’s and 1970’s? Or was it because we lived in government housing,
Blue Heart-Andy Barker
Fiction: Lucius is unmoored, unanchored, untethered. Nothing holding him to his life where it should be. He lies awake, alone in the dark. There’s that time, sailing with the kids
The Blue Door-Ellis Conklin
Memoir: A couple of newspaper reporters talking, Seattle, 1994. It’s June. They’re sharing a small table by the coffee pot in the corner of the newsroom. A lemon-iced sheet cake
Three Summers-TheresAnn Bosserman
Memoir: Roses The light that evening slanted across the porch through the white sun blinds and between the posts of the gray porch railing in golden streams. The rare roses
Mr. Hobo Risin’-Tom Lackaff
Memoir: The first time you jump on a moving train, it feels like flying. Many of the elements of flight are there: steady forward motion, exhilarating wind in your face,
59 Days, 21 States-Laura E. Bailey
Memoir: There is a logic, a rhythm, to a well-executed road trip. I’ve been planning this one for years, a manila folder the repository of scraps of paper with scribbled
Along the Way-Gary Albright
Memoir: Jim and I had been canoeing through Canada for years and, in fact, Jim had been doing so since he was a child. Every trip to Canada was precious,
Summertime-Gail B. Frank
Essay: Summertime and the livin’ is easy. So the song from Porgy and Bess goes. Even though most of us, like school kids, consider those bookends of Memorial Day and
Heaven, Take Note-Ellis Conklin
Fiction: On the afternoon of June 29, 2051, Ted Falconer, director of the Pearl Sector Homeless Pavilion for the city of Portlandia, stood atop Neakahnie Mountain and stared down on
All You Need is Glove-Tom Lackaff
Memoir: I was not an athletic kid by any 7th inning stretch of the imagination. As an only child, I lacked the opportunity to compete in the physical arena on a
Two Religions-Lorraine Ortiz
Memoir: There were two religions in my family, Catholicism and baseball. My Dad was a life-long fanatic of both. Devotion like his came from a deep indoctrination in faith. Faith
The Ballgame-Julie Young
Memoir: My father played baseball once a year. No glove, no cleats, no practice, but a deep affection for family. On a grassy field he played with brothers, cousins, and
The Catcher-Marc Johnson
Essay: He is the only one of nine who sees all the game facing forward. If the object is to get home, that is where he plays. He goes by
Grand Slam-Vera Wildauer
Memoir: I was a rather oblivious mom when it came to my son’s sports events. Especially when it came to Little League. Mainly it was because both the practices and
Crazed Baseball Moms-Karen West
Memoir: You know the type. That overbearing baseball mom who shouts through the fence: are you kidding me? when the umpire calls strike three on her precious boy. Or the
Shea Metski-Robert Liebler
Fiction: Chapter 1 Twice upon two times, magic would dramatically alter the fortunes of baseball’s New York Mets. First, there was 1969. The Mets phoenixed from last place to win
The Longest Out-Dan Haag
Nonfiction: I love baseball. It offers a sense of order in an often chaotic, messy world. There is poetry in its movements and strategy. Unlike other sports, where the main
America’s Sport-Laura Bailey
Nonfiction: I’m not a nationalist, but I’ll accept the label of patriot. I get teary as somebody (not me) hits the high note in the Star Spangled Banner. During our
Parallel Universe–Leigh Arevalo
Fiction: “NOBLAAAAAWWWCK!!!” The obnoxious yell whizzed past her right ear toward the baseball diamond. What did he say? He sounded like the duck from the AFLAC commercials. “NOBLAAAWWWCK!” Yes. Definitely
Bye Bye, Baby!–Ellis Conklin
Fiction: “Now listen fellas, you gotta be pretty lousy to lose a hundred games. You gotta really stink up the joint, and that’s what we did. We stunk up the
Butterflies–Karen West
Nonfiction: Like a nervous teenager about to meet her high school crush, I checked my makeup for the third time, popped an Altoid and anxiously paced the restaurant lobby. My
A New House–Lynn Steinberg
Fiction: Sylvie was in love with her adopted home of Seattle – with the moody, gray skies, the rain, the emerald green landscape. She loved the hum of the city,
When Will You Have This Much Time?–Kathie Hightower
Fiction: The scene in front of me looks like Judy Woodruff’s PBS News Hour home office. Bookcase behind her, carefully curated, in my sister’s case arranged by color. I watch
Rumbling Rambles–Jim Stewart
Nonfiction: I can sit on my motorcycle, rumbling down Coast Highway 101, following my front tire to Seaside. As long as there is road, sometimes it isn’t possible to discover
Retirement Blues–Robert “Butch” Freedman
Nonfiction: Retirement is a tricky business. It can even be downright uncomfortable. I’m still trying to figure it out. I know what you’re thinking: What’s to figure out, buddy. All
Starting Over–Cate Gable
Nonfiction: In my seventh decade I’m starting over. I come from four generations (perhaps more—one can see only so far into the dim past) of keepers. There are boxes filling
What the Cat Knows–Andy Barker
Fiction: I pick up Frankie’s glass and gulp down the remaining Prosecco. I mean, why waste it? There must have been something else besides the shoes that set her off.
Shoot the Moon-Ellis Conklin
Fiction: Jack Brooks was in his kitchen with his cat Bandito when he heard the mailman clattering up the steps of the Alice Arms Apartments. Jack was making dumplings from
All the Time in the World–Laura Bailey
Nonfiction: I always knew I’d stand on this deck, look out over those boats, smell that sea. I’d seen it in every possible season, although only in my mind. Snow
