Dad is smacking his gums right now with a childlike glee, not because he’s losing his marbles but because he’s checking in on the systems that still work. More pieces have fallen off; he’s driving …

We’ve gotten the word from on high (his docs, since no other authority holds much water for Dad) that we’re nearing the end of the race. Which we knew, but it’s been officially annointed by …

One of Dad’s oldest and dearest friends Betsy was visiting from New York when my brother Chris, my husband and I went to Dad’s house to do some chores for him. Dad had …

The days are balmy after an intolerably late start to summer. Portlanders, usually sanguine about their weather, have been twitchy and edgy, all chatty conversations winding inevitably to our hopes for a summer to finally …

or: A Few Thing I Learned in New York About Writers For The Nervous Breakdown, with Greater or Lesser Emphasis on The Truth.
The last time I was in New York I had morning sickness …

These days, perhaps one of the most indelible images in my mind is of a dead sea bird, not covered in oil from the Deepwater Horizon disaster, but whose rotting carcass is filled with bottle …

Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
–The Graduate, 1967

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