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

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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

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.