This post first ran on December 8, 2019 Yesterday, I was having a drink with a friend and some of her friends. A couple of the women were talking about their grandkids and all the ways they try to be of service to them, which is wonderful, but sometimes exhausting and time consuming. I blurted...
A friend and I were reminiscing yesterday about what people in Idaho called the “junk room”; that room in an unseen part of the house where the door was always closed and the smell of mothballs was ever-present. I had two favorite junk rooms. One was in my grandmother’s house, an upstairs bedroom piled pell-mell...
This post originally ran Aug. 24, 2019 I’ve wanted to write a novel about my Mexican grandmother since I was fifteen. I’ve known all along what the first line would be: “When I was nine years old, Poncho Villa rode into town and killed a merchant in the street.” Whenever I think of that line,...
Yesterday, I was having a drink with a friend and some of her friends. A couple of the women were talking about their grandkids and how hard they try to be of service to them, which is wonderful, but sometimes hard. I blurted out, “I don’t know. I spent a lot of time with...