For Anthony Bourdain, who gave us the recipe for a true life. May he be resting sweetly and well. It was a kitchen seemingly built for toddlers: cramped, short-ceiling and dim, the overpainted cabinets patterned with the last tenant’s flowered shelf liner. That tiny awkward space staged the love affair I began with chef Anthony Bourdain, … More The Chef in My Kitchen: How Anthony Bourdain Healed My Heart with a Knife
A 40-something female friend told me recently she had no #metoo stories. None. Had never experienced unwanted, inappropriate advances from a man. Frankly, this shocked me a bit, followed by a small wave of other emotions: disbelief, judgement, envy, and, of course, my loyal, invisible best friend: Shame. “Look at her,” Shame whispered. “She obviously … More In the Gray with #MeToo
The Universe was in a bad place today, at least on my axis. But the tilt back came, it just took a bit of sideways looking. As is always the case, the deep breath, the pause, the chocolate…these things calibrate. Bags. Let’s begin there. Not with the flu, and then upset belly I’ve had for … More When the Universe is Crooked
If I threw a rock down the gullet of this deep, lonely blog, would it hit at the bottom? Would it splash into some river run-off of old melancholy or all has that all dried up? Lodge itself into the thick damp remnants of fear. Or would that flung rock just hit the dry, cracked … More Echo echo echo echo….
Two years ago today, a bunch of us stood in a window-lined waiting room far above November-dirty, Seattle streets. Rain smashed the glass. It was cold and she was dying. That was all most of us knew. We had woken up that morning regular people. That evening, we practiced in our minds how to stand up … More What Two Years Does
Embarrassed. Selfish. Fake. Disgusted. Afraid. Indignant. Lonely. Ashamed. These are the emotions of success. These are the first feelings that sweep through my crab-trap of a mind and then land squarely in my gut anytime I do something that everyone else perceives as good or right, interesting or special. This is what success feels like … More My Own F#*king Trampoline
I forgot the frog. Left him in my purse instead of slipping him into my front jeans pocket, as I’d planned. He had been sitting on my desk at work, next to three beautiful, hand-formed clay stones imprinted with the words “Just breathe.” The frog is as big as my thumb tip and made of … More A Frog in My Pocket