September 11 changed my life in more ways than I thought possible–I have a hard time believing it’s been so long ago. […]
It’s a gorgeous day here in glassland, rained just enough yesterday to turn the car into a mud-spattered mess, and I stopped off at the carwash on the way home. Only about 500 people had the same idea, and while I waited patiently in line I spotted two teenage girls poking fun at a dumpy middle-aged lady. She was chubby, [...]
My sister’s family bought a few acres on a mountain in southern Washington state, about 90 minutes from Portland. Their dream house–built largely by my brother-in-law–is currently under construction. Suzi started designing the house at least four years ago, and somewhere along the way decided that *her* idea of a dream house was a place called Nether Lypiatt. A classical [...]
This morning I looked out the window to the house that's catty-corner from mine, and thought about Yuri and the Chagall. Yuri, a balding, bouncy man in his late 50s, used to own that house. He greeted me enthusiastically when I moved in, told me his family was from the Ukraine, that he was a painter and that the gorgeous [...]
Katie, the girl who lives across the street, has a strict mother and a boyfriend. Neither would be a problem if the boyfriend had more brains than a radish. At best, hormones are interfering with his higher brain function, which has made for an entertaining summer. There’s only been a moderate amount of tonsil exploration in the front yard–the boyfriend [...]
By Cynthia Morgan Copyright 2006 on this one. All rights reserved. Mama traded me for a handful of greens. Most pregnant ladies have cravings, but Mama's were cravings on steroids: She wanted the greens next door. ALL of them. ONLY them. Now. Daddy grew desperate as she wasted away, and struck a deal with his neighbor: Anything she wanted, in [...]
By Cynthia Morgan (Copyright 2006, All rights reserved on this one) Of all the poor villages in the otherworld, Santa Abuelita was the poorest. Crouched in sere yellow hills, barely able to feed its hardworking peasants, Santa Abuelita could boast of little but its tiny chapel. The chapel itself was unremarkable though lovingly tended. The villagers propped up its tilting [...]
The lawyer wears her hair as some wear mink, a black pelt cascading down her back. It covers the small scar on her forehead, memento of the only time her mother ever struck her. She told me that the blow plunged her into shocked silence; protection, she now knew, from the hungry soldiers who’d come that night for her sister. [...]
