We were on Bainbridge Island visiting the extended family of my sweetheart. We got there after dark, let ourselves in and found a frozen lasagna and a Murder She Wrote marathon.
In the morning the sun rose over a panorama of Seattle and far off mountains that seem covered in more snow then I have seen in several years.
I looked around the room we woke up in and Read the rest of this entry
He is a collector, finder, gatherer, noticer.
Bright red, hard working, a little bit of spittle always in the corner
All she wants to eat is peanut butter.
I’m trying to figure out breakfast on my ten minutes off the line of a busy french bakery. Peanut butter.
I’m trying to participate in an adult discussion about pizza toppings. Peanut butter.
I’m crying alone in my bed at night, feeling like everything is caving in and I am never going to be any use to myself or anyone else…
When I was small there was a farm next door to the house where I spent every other weekend, alternating holidays and one terrifying summer. That farm had aggressive geese, pigs, a large barn where a mishap on a rope swing landed me with a large sliver in my ass, and horses. I remember riding with the kids over there, always bareback because the tack was too much for us to wrestle at 7 years old. Read the rest of this entry