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

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

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

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,

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,

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

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

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

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,

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