I hate department stores. I don’t use the word “hate” lightly. The empty vastness of material nothingness; the bright lights spotlighting our greed; the vapid noise of elevator music and high-pitched meaningless laughter.
Thus, when my daughter suggests I go with her and my 11-year-old granddaughter for a girls’ day of shopping, I respond immediately:
“Of course. I’d love to.”
I pull on my Keen’s and yell to my guy, “I’m off to the post office and CVS.” The day is as glorious as a soft silhouette, so no car-choring for me. I’ll walk instead.
But as I stroll on the side road near our home that leads to a busier, 2-lane street, something glints in the middle of the narrow road. Bright, shiny sharp light found only from shards of glass. Continue reading
Back in the day, we didn’t take buses or drive in a car.
We walked.
Back in the day didn’t matter if our school was a distance far
We walked
Back in the day whether rain or shine, snow or sleet
We walked
Back in the day we depended on one thing only, our feet
We walked. Continue reading
As my mom’s life slowly unravels – her brain forgetting my name, her thoughts floating in a vast ocean of faded blues – I wish I could thank her for her cakes. Continue reading
© Shelley Steinle, illustrator.
A year ago I lost my purr.
At the time, I didn’t think of it that way. I was suffering the side effects of a concussion. All summer long I’d been unable to enjoy the activities that helped me feel fulfilled.
What’s a writer-woman to do? Continue reading
roughwighting 