When I say it’s a very big deal to come to Paris, I don’t say it because I’m an idiot, I say it because where I come from people stay in their places. And this can’t be understood, perhaps, unless you grew up in exactly the same way, in a town of 8,000 people and …
The low turnout at the bus stop should have been the final clue. Just three men stood there, clad in hiking gear and holding umbrellas. But our American optimism was unshakable, and we were well-prepared in any case, wearing ponchos and Gore-tex boots. We looked up at the sopping clouds. “They’ll blow over,” I said. …
I’m taking a month off from blogging. It’s not a joke, though yes, this is April 1. For the month of April, I’ve got a whole line up of posts ready to go. And none of them, not one, were written by me. I threw the doors open, invited 29 bloggers in, and for the …
Sleepy headed guy in a black hooded sweatshirt. He stands in the shelter out of the wet. On his neck, a lipstick kiss tattoo, pinkish red, very real if a little too big. As I’m trying to figure out what color that is, exactly, the bus arrives, he flips up his hood, and I can’t …
Typically, we blast through Bellingham, Washington, making no more than a coffee and bagel stop downtown to fortify ourselves for either the Canadian border crossing at Peace Arch or the bumper to bumper traffic between Everett and downtown Seattle. Chock full of coffee and carbs, we grip the steering wheel, navigate Interstate 5, and wonder …
29 guests are invited to my house. Bring something to share. Seriously. Just show up in my in-box, there’s nothing else to do. I’m trying an experiment. I’d like to see if I can get 29 posts, one every day for the month of April. 29 posts, one every day, written by you. Why 29? …