At sleepovers, I deconstructed entire linen closets. I would sneak into the hallway, a child prowler working by nightlight, and seek out the towels, fabric-softener-fresh mounds of richly hued terrycloth, thick and plentiful. At home our towels were...
Topics: Books, On writing

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For about eight months now, I've been taking a course at The Writing Salon called the Round Robin . Once a week the instructor, Jane Underwood, sends a class email with that week's writing prompts and partner assignments. Every day, for no more...
Topics: Fiction, On writing

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The world you’re plunked into is the one that will hold. Certain odors will stick: melted cheese transformed into a crisp filagree along a sandwich edge; stewed tomatoes, metallic as tarnished silver, bleeding into a wedge of macaroni and cheese...
Topics: Childhood hangover, The kid

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Don't be disturbed by the photograph. It is only a diversion. In fact, I actually posted it a couple of weeks ago and then removed the post. I had nothing to say and the photograph wasn't adding to the conversation. Today it appears as filler, a..
Topics: Food, Quotidian existence

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Peter was only after the blender. I was working in the college bookstore, propped up on a stool behind the register, when he came in to buy something small, a pack of gum, a used book, a cassette tape, I don’t remember. As I passed his change over..
Topics: Food, Friends

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