Sightseers into Pilgrims, by Evangeline Paterson I used to think -- loving life so greatly -- that to die would be like leaving a party before the end. Now I know that the party is really happening somewhere else; that the light and the music -- escaping in snatches to make the pulse beat and the tempo quicken -- come from a long way away. And I know too that when I get there the music will never end.
Two months ago my mom died. Yet, it seems like she’s still alive, and like she left years ago. In fact, I wasn’t able to mourn her for the six years she suffered from dementia, but since she’s died, I’ve celebrated her vitality and misdeeds and shenanigans and mostly, her love for her family, in big and small ways. Continue reading
Paula stepped away, holding back a scream when the neighbor who had just moved into the apartment above her entered the shared laundry room, saying softly: “Is there a problem?” (In the Laundry Room, continuing from last week…)
“Oh. Um. Hello! It’s Stefan, isn’t it? Hi. I’m Paula.” Paula nodded her head as if in a business meeting, berating herself silently. He’s creepy!
Stefan ignored her as he glared at the laundry in her hands. “I believe those are my jeans. And Darlene’s nightgown.” Continue reading
Paula grumbled as she trudged down the apartment stairs to the building’s laundry room. As much as she loved her two-bedroom apartment with full on views of the San Francisco Bay from every room, she didn’t appreciate the shared laundry space. Continue reading
I blame it on my reading.
I figured out how to understand the squiggly lines on a page when I was 4. In the past, children weren’t encouraged to read in Kindergarten. The best thing for young brains was play, back in the day. Continue reading