Memoirous

Those are the words I tapped into my phone as I rounded a corner in Seaside heading to the Turnaround Monument at the end of my Lewis and Clark bike tour. Three little words that conveyed my bursting heart. I was almost done! After over 40 days of riding halfway across the country during the pandemic—where, perhaps, I shouldn’t have even been alive. There was so much misinformation—I wasn’t a skeptic, I social distanced and wore a mask—and, maybe, it wasn’t misinformation about congregant living and those over 60 being the most vulnerable. I mean all that did apply to me, even the part where I purposefully decided to work at our homeless shelter, where avoiding contact with the infected was nearly impossible. All this to say: I didn’t die or catch COVID. Then right as lockdown restrictions lifted, I hopped on my bike and rode to the Pacific Ocean. On my way—can also mean I’ve done all the prep, I’m ready, again, almost there. I’m down to sorting through my gear and planning wha...

Late fall I brought inside any plants I didn’t want to freeze. I attempted to hold over the chard and kale under a flimsy Tyvek plastic tarp—which went okay. The plants I brought inside were spearmint and chives. Throughout the winter the chives thrived and I used them in salads, on top of baked potatoes, and quiches. I was a little disappointed—tasteless. But it was deep winter and everything tasted washed out and bland. The blahs. Recently, I’ve begun returning the herbs back outside. I decided to keep the greenest and lushest one inside as I was about to make a dish that I’d brighten up with the chives. But the more I looked at the white pot topped with a green bushy crop, I thought: That looks like grass. I bent over, it smelled like grass. I got my phone and, using an identifying app, discovered it was grass. The two other pots were chives, the ones I ignored in lieu of not chives. Which means all winter long I was using grass as a condiment on a number of foods. I wanted to...

As an old(er) woman it’s easy to be invisible. I can walk down the street or at the grocery store and no one sees me. Especially when people are only looking at their phone. I noticed this starting about ten years ago—in my late 50s. I became irrelevant. Many women have described this. Perhaps, they were used to the attentions of men. I remember as a teen walking down the street with a friend and cars honking. Finally, I said, Why are all these cars honking?! And, she said, Because of these, pointing to her boobs. Ahh, I thought, yes, that’s why. Alone, no one ever honked at me. But, the feeling comes over me when standing in line at the bank or checkout. Incognito. Overlooked. Oh, you were here first? Oh, there’s a line? Oh, you’re actually here in front of me? Yes, and yes. Sometimes it bothers me, but after awhile I forget about it, just like the people around me forget to notice me. When riding my bike, I also disappear, and this, I found, is a good thing. I retreat ins...

Intervals (description below*) put out a call for work reflecting places no longer there. Not abandoned, but lost now to time. Erasure. * Intervals  is an experiment in call and response—between prompt and reply, between  Pictura  and its contributors. Each exchange becomes part of a continuing conversation, carried on in the spaces between our regular issues. Hidden Valley Ranch is an example of something tucked away in my writing portfolio, a flash memory/vignette of family vacations to central Kentucky to Hidden Valley Resort. The word resort here used very broadly to mean a family-owned and operated seasonal tourist “destination” featuring a swimming pool, barn dances, outdoor game area, and guided horse rides. I thought I was the only one, but when I first wrote about Hidden Valley and posted it on my blog over 12 years ago, I was surprised at the number of responses from readers Googling and finding my memoir post. These folks also remembered Hidden Valley and ...

I’m just now getting the memo, but happy to make the scene. You see, I’m of a generation of oatmeal and cold cereal, the occasional eggs and bacon. Avocado toast wasn’t a thing. Neither were avocados. I don’t remember my mother buying them  This week they were on special at the grocery store and I picked up two. Oddly enough, just the night prior on YouTube I’d seen a clip on avocado toast and thought yum! Weird how so many algorithms lie up. Anyway, I mashed up half and spread it on toast with a bit of cheese and pickled onion/cucumber and a dash of Dash. Something as simple as breakfast, as benign as toast, as colorful as spring grass—and I was in love. This blog is about memories—the most ordinary the better. So I landed on the topic of avocado toast this a.m. You might already be there or struggling to find a happy place, I adjoin you to try out avocado toast. Thank you Mexico and sun and rain and avocado trees!

I’m not sure how I thought I could do this in one day. The weather has gradually gotten better and not so cold in the a.m. I did a bit on Friday and a bit on Saturday with momentum building to finishing up today. Almost. I got the raised beds seeded and a few tomato seedlings transplanted. But there are NUMEROUS pots I use for what doesn’t fit in the raised beds. At one point I used my bike + trailer to go get more garden soil—not knowing the bags were 50 pounds each—and brought home two. The pots just kept coming. At a certain point, I told myself the rectangular ones would wait till tomorrow. 2 kinds of cucumbers 2 kinds of kale 2 kinds of chard Sweetie, Big Daddy, and another kind of tomato Pole beans Dill Thyme Summer savory Peppers Still to go—carrots, radishes, and basil Sooooo tired from the sun and exertion.

Leafing Out   Everything is leafing out While it only seems like a week ago The trees were bare And the jubilant buds far off Today the blossoms are a memory and Everything has leafed out   Sitting out While only a week ago A bitter wind blew and the trees shivered Today the verdant canopy is thick And we sit out, basking in the sun   Every bone in the body relaxes in warmth And the eyes cool in the shade Next week will be better As we leaf out, laugh out, lean Into summer  

I’ve been feeling very stressed lately—but, to be honest, I’m always feeling stressed. It’s my go-to reaction to pretty much everything. A physical second guessing. The cataract thing hasn’t helped. One, it presents as an old-person problem and I’m not old. At least I don’t feel old. Nevertheless, it came on quick and are fast-growing. I had an eye evaluation scheduled end of last September and things were fine. They noted my distance vision had worsened, but there was nothing said it was because cataracts were clouding my vision. Then, fast forward to December: And I’;m having trouble driving and at work I keep saying it looks like snow. To be fair, it did snow a lot—just not inside the building. I went back to the eye doc and asked about glasses. I got a pair in February and was told it might take some getting used to. March and April and I’m not seeing any better. So I go back to talk things over. That’s when I’m given an appointment to meet with an ophthalmologist. The process...

Here in Kalamazoo Does anyone else get Glenn Miller déjà vu when they hear Kalamazoo? I got a gal (in Kalamazoo) Don't wanna boast, but I know she's the toast Of Kalamazoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo Years have gone by (my, my how she grew) I liked her looks when I carried her books In Kalamazoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo I'm gonna send a wire, hoppin' on a flyer (Leavin' today) So, today I hopped a train to Kalamazoo—not exactly by choice. As mentioned in my last post: I recently found out I have cataracts. Not a little, but a lot. I was told not to drive and I knew I had a presentation in Kalamazoo in less than a week. Nothing upsets me more than to think I’ll disappoint someone. So, with the little agency I still possessed. I booked a morning train to the city/town and figured something would work out. It did. First off: the train was only $9, less money than I was planning to give to someone to drive me. Second, my husband was here visiting and was going back ...

Stink Bugs I was emptying a box the other day to get ready for a reading I was doing. Hopefully. Things these days feel very tenuous. Finding out I have cataracts and trying to schedule a procedure also has something to do with my mental makeup. Everything is cloudy and on hold. Anyway, in a corner of the box was a dead stink bug. Who knows how long it’s been there! It’s not like I was unpacking the Dead Sea Scrolls but, yes, it was back stock of my books. It’d been a minute. A Chicago minute. (I’ve been in Michigan now for about 4 years, time flies.) The last time I saw some of these books was packing them up to leave Chicago and wondering if my writing life was going to continue. Inventory is always about how much do you think you’ll need/want. It was hard to imagine going through so many copies of Orphan Girl and some of the other titles, but I packed them all into a U-Haul and trucked them to Okemos, Michigan where who knew what was next!? So, this was a Chicago stink bug? ...

Graduation Day Sheet Cake   Here’s to all the graduates Sheet cake Thick plastic icing Rosettes mounded, impermeable We wish you the best but Not the very best, not A bundt, or bakery 3-tier The world is your oyster Here today, gone Tomorrow, like the sheet cake Congratulations!

 So on the way up to Grand Rapids for a writing conference while on the bus, I saw that I got an acceptance. Great! It was for a flash I'd written awhile back and then largely forgot about. Then while out running, I remembered it at exactly the same place in the run that I was inspired to write it. That's how I think or rather remember. If I forget something, I'll remember it again if I go back and stand in the same place where I remembered it. So I was running and remembered the piece and that I'd forgotten about it. I pulled it up on my computer and decided to add another line, then sent it to my critique group, who liked it except for the line I added. "You don't need it; it sounds like you added it." Yup, okay. And I sent it off.  A week later an acceptance. But now I have to figure out how to bring up my submission grid/tracker and update it and inform the other places I sent it to that it is no longer available. I did this the next day after picking ...