The Search for Grandma
A few weeks ago, Grandma fell in her bedroom. She pulled a bookcase down on top of her, breaking several ribs and pushing her further down “the road” than she had been before.
A few weeks ago, Grandma fell in her bedroom. She pulled a bookcase down on top of her, breaking several ribs and pushing her further down “the road” than she had been before.
My first meal off the plane, jet-lagged as I was, consisted of No. 1 Grange Road’s “Haggis, Neeps, and Tatties Tower.”
I set a few rules—my “day” on the bus would last eight hours, but would include walking to, from, and between buses.
Dear M,
I hope you are enjoying life in Oregon. I am trying very hard not to miss you. Sometimes, it works.
Throughout the service, the wind seemed to heighten our attention rather than scatter it; there could be no looking away from God that day.
I have been thinking about scorpions because I live in the desert, where dwell these hard-cased creatures from hell.
In an era of self-exploration, it becomes extremely difficult to identify who or what my self is, since it takes on so many shapes depending on who I’m with or where we are or both.
After one too many flings into the pond, rainy nights left outside, and one malicious dirt-biking incident involving my older cousin Adam, Dort looked like your typical horror movie puppet.
But that Saturday, while I was still in bed, I got another call from my mom. I knew from her first word the reason she was calling. Very early that morning, my grandfather had died in his sleep. I wept.
By mid morning, the classroom was really heating up. I turned on every available fan, shut off the the overhead lights, and opened the windows.