I am 1985 Allison Reynolds lost on the set of Mean Girls. Let’s preface this rant with the truth that I love my apartment. It houses my favorite office and is located in a gorgeous spot. I have no complaints. But if, as my kids like to say, someone grabbed me by the throat and…
If I were a painter, I would wear a twist of string tied to my ankle long ago by a lover who never promised and left before I ever asked. I would live and work in an echoing flat with iron floor-to-ceiling windows and colorful but cracked tile in the tiny toilet. The window near…
The maintenance guy thinks I’m a serial killer. We’ve had some issues with our smoke detectors going off at random intervals, and the joys of apartment life allow for a quick email to the maintenance department. A lovely man arrived yesterday. He changed some batteries. I stood with him under the alarm near my office…
This boat sits in the marina by my home. I walk by three times a day with Jack. At night, the warm light within makes it special. A man sits at the small table inside and works on a large wooden boat model. Jack and I slow to glance over every evening. The man sits…
Yesterday, I fell on my face. For real. This isn’t some lavish metaphor. I walked Jack, helping him navigate his usual sense that the other dogs were out to kill me or destroy the world, when a rogue Boxer came out of nowhere behind us. The rest of the memory speeds up from here. Jack…
Balconies are interesting spaces. A front yard or a porch are also revealing, but balconies are small pops of individuality amid a sea of windowed vertical boxes. I can’t say I ever noticed what my neighbors were doing when I lived among the streets, but now that I’m in an apartment, I can’t seem to…
A couple of weeks ago, I was exiting the parking garage of my apartment. It was morning, and while I waited to pull forward, I glanced toward the promenade that encircles the marina. It was breezy, the mist seemingly waking up and rolling about too. A woman stood a few feet from me with a…
I can’t write about cancer or surgeries or recovery or healing. Not because it’s too soon or I’m sad. I wrote a post about what I’ve been through and how it sucked and promptly deleted it. I can’t remember the last time I deleted a blog post, but God the thing was long and boring,…
If I were turning ten at the end of the month, this would be about stickers. It would be short and sweet because I neither loved to read nor kept a journal when I was ten. I was a talker at ten. If I were turning twenty at the end of the month, this would…
