Disaster/Relief

  On Monday evening, which happened to be the evening of my 43rd birthday, my husband came home with the mail and dropped it on the desk as usual. And it was the usual pile of bills and holiday catalogs and appeals for end-of-year donations. And the Princeton Alumni Weekly. For years, when this magazine…

Personal Archives II, or Poetry

I have a new love. It’s called poetry.  I have an old love. It’s called poetry, too. They are finally meeting one another, in the space of my mind. While cleaning out my computer several months ago, I found a rich text file that held just one poem, with no attribution or signature.  I honestly…

One Year Since Éire

Yesterday my parents and I accompanied my daughter’s class on a field trip to San Francisco. The school rented a small tourist bus for the trip. As I climbed aboard and took my seat alone by the window (my daughter wanted to sit with her friends in the very, very back, and my parents wanted…

Lurching Towards Blossoming

The other day I ran into a friend with whom I worked in Occupy Santa Rosa.  Towards the end of my time with the Occupy movement, she (probably unbeknownst to her) became much more than a friend; she became a “Wild Woman” meeting me in the dark woods, offering me another chance to make my…

I can’t be a Hip Mama because….

I read on Facebook a few days ago that Hip Mama is relaunching in print, and since then my finger has been hesitating over the key that would let me subscribe.  Then, to top it off, I was invited by Dani Burlison to the North Bay’s Hip Mama/Rad Dad relaunch party.  Am I dreaming? I…