Memoirous

Last week was a much anticipated trip to Sleeping Bear Dunes with a friend from Chicago. I was grateful that the weather was much better than the weekend preceding—except there was a chance that smoke from the Canadian wildfires might confound plans. Indeed, the sky was not quite as blue and affected the color of the water. Still, the variating degrees of blue, aqua, green, rippling beyond the shore, stood out in contrast. I was glad to be there, eating fresh veggie wraps at picnic tables and climbing in my pedals the scenic drive and standing below—even if hazy—a wide sky. Here is a flashback to a few years ago to a post I wrote posted  August 01, 2023 Chasing Golden Raindrops After work one evening, I rode my bike home, the long way. The sky, enhanced by Canadian wildfires, Was itself on fire, the color of flames Orange and red, blue blaze. Ashy clouds with singed edges, wafted above, adding to the wooly haze. Air quality alert, my skin tingled— I felt a tightness in my chest a...

  originally from April 18, 2018 Readers of this blog know that I am addicted to Antiques Roadshow. I watch mostly for the description. Crenulated. Wingback. Bezel. That thing on the top of cabinet clocks. When is an object more than just a thing—when you hear one of the Keno brothers go into detail about it. You come to understand it is the sum of the parts, the work invested, the craftsmanship. One of the appraisers was evaluating a book of police mugshots from Portland, Oregon circa 1900s. The term she used to describe it was vernacular, as in vernacular photos have become very popular. Here’s how Daile Kaplan defined the term: The photography of the everyday, the photography that's a record, that's a document, that has a historic truth. This is also how I might define flash memoir. This is not the letter from Abraham Lincoln or the guy who found the Rembrandt in the trash. This is more like the story behind the toy train. I got it for Christmas one year and it’s been in our...

 I'm reposting from Dec. 2019 a memory from the early 80s. I was reminded (re-reminded?) of this memory the other day as I received in the mail a newsletter from Assumption Abbey , Richardton, ND--a refuge I stayed at on my cross-country bike trip. The brothers were very welcoming despite it being a pandemic. I felt a great affinity for them and their work. I've continued to financially support the Abbey and love receiving their newsletter. Monastery Christ in the Desert Nearly 40 years ago I went to visit my sister who was spending her Christmas break at Ghost Ranch, a Presbyterian conference center outside of Taos, New Mexico. She had spent time working there as part of the college staff the summer before. Soon after arriving we grabbed snowshoes off some pegs and trudged back into Box Canyon where our voices echoed off the icy walls. During the long twilight, we slowly made our way back to the house following a trail of twinkling lights, like sparkling crystals in the haloed...

 A Wassailing We will Go This time of year brings its own particular memories—usually brought on by the five senses. The smell of fresh-fallen snow reminds us of sled runs when we were younger, the velvety taste of hot chocolate reminds me of sipping cocoa from my Santa mug when I was five or six years old, the ugly ornament half broken and losing its shiny luster is the one I am most fond of, the one my mother gave me that used to be hers. The lights, the carols, the yummy smells all work together to bring forth memories—some good, some not so good. I remember one particular weekend before Christmas when I was a Girl Scout leader for my daughter’s troop. At best it was like herding cats. Trying to get a dozen or so girls to cooperate, for one minute to shut up and listen. We had plans to go downtown to the  Museum of Science and Industry  for  Christmas Around the World . Does the museum still do this? It is where in the Great Hall trees representing Christmas in ot...

 Flash back to  Monday, March 5, 2018 Weird Jobs I've Had I’ve done a lot of crazy things for money. Collected bottles and cans for cash, There was the usual: babysitting, mowing grass, cleaning the kitty litter, and shoveling snow. I got up at 4 in the morning to deliver newspapers. One summer me and the neighborhood kids built an amusement park in the backyard and charged admission. We sold Zagnut and Zero bars at our concession stand. The weirdest thing I’ve ever done was answer an ad looking for someone to dress up in a broccoli costume and walk around the mall offering samples of raw vegetables. It seemed surreal—probably because I was sleep deprived. It was my final semester of college, I needed a few extra bucks. But surreal in the sense that I, a vegetable, was asking people to eat me, to eat my fellow vegetables. It felt cannibalistic. Obviously, I was overthinking the job. Whenever I see broccoli on the salad bar line I’m reminded of that time in my life—and usually ...