Category Archives: Colorado
Herb has long since retired. Where his barber pole once hung there’s now an upscale Vietnamese joint that does light lunches and dinners.
Fire is a dirty thing. Petulant, wild, prone to fits.
It is in the repetitive ritual of opening and closing the house each day—unrolling the broken shade by hand, wrestling with the deadbolt on the warped front door, seeing age—that I find inexplicable revelations.
Saint John once wrote that perfect love casts out fear. I beg to differ.
I can still remember the first time I lied to my parents. I was seven years old and was obsessed with Indiana Jones.
No one believes it. I didn’t believe it, until I grabbed the bumper, tried to lift, and realized I didn’t even know how to grip the thing. I’m writing about an experience I still don’t fully understand, and the sharing of it is even more incomprehensible.
Somewhere around 5:00 a.m. on Saturday, mom will go into Noah’s Ark mode, creating piles two at a time and designating where they will go in the car.
On the way out of the house, the thief’s bleeding hand had grabbed my Bible from where it lay on the floor. There’s a story inside it, one that I hope they read.