Gifts Rekindled–Judie Bristow
Exposing ashes of unfulfilled dreams. Moving through the intense flames. Unveiling the dense smoke screen. Left scorched and charred. Discovering a glimmer of creativity. Igniting smoldering embers. Unearthing extinguished burning
Tante Nonica–Martha Johnson
Memoir: “Sag deinen Namen!” In a small voice, the trembling eight year old girl standing next to my strong, stoic Tante, whispered, “Berthe.” Tante was the Mother Superior of
Rotkäppchen and the Dark Wood–Martha Johnson
Memoir: Like a thief in the night benzodiazepines stole my health. To mask the stresses of child welfare work, to ease the grief of knowing there are humans who intentionally
Impressions–David Dillon
Memoir: In 1989, my father bought a brand-new, gray, Mercedes Benz 300SE sedan. It was huge — two-and-a-half tons and nearly 17 feet long. He paid $52,000 cash for it.
My First Car–Julianne Johnson
Memoir: I was so excited to get a car of my own that I wasn’t even embarrassed by how awful it looked. I was in high school and at 16,
Breathless–Judie Bristow
Flashy and Built. Burning tires and High Octane. It took my breath away. Sleek and Loaded. Hot red and Custom details. It took my breath away. Leather and Chrome. Loud
Henry’s Cars–Martha Johnson
Memoir: 1. There was only one chick magnet. Finally, in 1998, Henry had the chick magnet he always wanted, a black 5.0 liter Mustang GT. All the cool guys in
Finding My Inner Cowgirl–Marcia Silver
Memoir: September 1992 On the used car lot, among the Volvos and other ho-hum vehicles, the red Mustang convertible lifted its head and promised boots and saddle, independence, adventure. Newly
Thorn City: A Novel–Pamela Statz
Fiction-Excerpt from a Novel: A bright yellow sports car roared up. It was low to the ground, long and lean, all angles and geometric shapes. The driver’s side door lifted
Old Growth Ford–Steve Quinn
Memoir: The car my wife and I just bought came to us as a complete surprise. It appears to be a Ford Model T, just now turning 100. It was
Automotive Imprinting–Vera Wildauer
Memoir: In 1974, my aunt, uncle, and young cousin came to visit from Germany. At the time our only car was a 1972 Mercury Cougar with bucket seats in the
Joy Ride–Mark Scott Smith
Memoir: It was almost midnight when our small-town policeman Tommy Lynch finally left and my parents told me to go to bed. In my room, a former moldy storage space
The Reluctant Car Owner–Kathie Hightower
Memoir: Driving Lesson Adventure My dad tried to teach me how to drive when I was 16. “You have to learn to drive a stick shift. For emergencies. Like a
Riding in Cars Alone–Laura E. Bailey
Memoir: Rite of passage: learner’s permit, tense lessons from a parent, afterschool drivers’ ed class with gory crash movies as cautionary tales. Escape chariot: ditching fifth period physics to join
The Disappearing Hippie–Georgianna Marie
Essay: He’d been thinking about becoming a disappearing hippie for years. There were plenty of reasons to get away. Among them, sex-drugs-rock-and-roll beckoned. He’d been waiting to escape, though, holding
Grabber Blue–Merridawn Duckler
Poetry: If you get behind a Ford Fairlane on a truck bed you must speak the name as it passes. First the clouds are scalloped, then oooph into big monoamniotic
Part Time Wife–Georgianna Marie
Memoir: I’ve been a part-time wife for the last 18 years. Then, my husband retired from his gone-half-the-time career as a pilot. After flying all over the world for two
Penny Wise–Martha Johnson
Memoir: “Do you know anything about pennies?” Rob asked. “No.” Now what? I wondered. One morning, as I walked down the center aisle to my desk, I noted a colleague,
Being the Company–Georgianna Marie
Essay: “How do you feel about your wife’s job?” This question changed my life. It was early 2010 and I’d owned my own small corporate training consulting firm for nearly
The Red House–Karen Keltz
Don’t ask me the name of our street some tree name—alder, aspen, oak? The FFA barn across the street spewed boys beating their cattle to make them mind. My father
Scarlet Fever–Ellis Conklin
Fiction The fever raged. Her thoughts ran wild, as did her dreams. When the DC-10 began to twitch like a convict strapped to an electric chair, Scarlet Diggs began to
Mutability–Isa de Quesada
Poetry: Autumn moves into winter with a clear intent to let go. Winter has no problem waiting in silence – Its icy grasp gathers around trunks freezing roots and blackening
Deeper Scars–Georgianna Marie
Memoir: Blood gushed between my bony fingers and down the back of my arm. I grabbed my chin, beads of scarlet dripping off my elbow onto the dirty linoleum floor
Book Weirdness–Kathie Hightower
Fiction: “Why can’t we be like normal people?” I hated the whine in my voice. Mom just stood there. Did that one eyebrow up thing that I couldn’t master no
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
