My mother's chores always drew my sisters and me back to her house. Over a weekend a few years ago, while we proceeded through a lengthy list, I grew committed to one task: clean a corner of the basement floor. While at it, I sensed there was something bigger I was trying to scrub away,…
Though I grew up in a wooded part of Connecticut, I felt some nature shock when my husband and I bought a house here. Twenty-two years in apartments had offset the eighteen years I'd spent in my mother's home, which sat among the same tree types I'm looking at right now: hemlock, arborvitae, birch, oak,…
Today, my eldest son reached the age—in years, months, and days—that I was the day my father died. I've marked the days my husband and I both reached my father’s age at his death, and today I mark the day for my son. Because that’s something one can actually do about death: mark the day.…
In April, my flash story titled "The Outing" appeared in The Molotov Cocktail. Long time coming to stretch into fiction again! The story is, as will be quite obvious to those who know me, heavily influenced by my years in Midtown. Thank you, TMC, for including this piece.
As our first-born was turning one, my husband and I grew increasingly concerned about his safety. I have three sons now, and while I supervise quite a bit these days, back then, it was more of a vigilance. Then this thing happened, this thing that threatened our safety at the very moment my husband and…
