Careless Love

I wrote about my orchids almost a year ago, in the euphoria of their first rebloom. I originally called it “Sherry Baby,” later confessed to “Careless Love.” Now both orchids are in full bloom again–clearly I’ve finally got the knack. I think the concentrated at-home time of this past year has something to do with it, heightened awareness of my immediate surroundings.

Here’s “Careless Love,“ published in CP Quarterly (formerly Crepe & Penn). Unfortunately you have to scroll to pages 76-77–if there’s a way to link to specific pages, it’s not in my skill set.

Gray Hour

We’re marking the one-year anniversary of the closures and quarantines of Covid-19. The pandemic still dominates people’s lives and minds. Writers are still writing about it–how can we not?–myself included.

My latest contribution is “Gray Hour,” linked here and published in a “writing corona” feature of The Headlight Review. It recalls last summer–uncharted days, hot afternoons, wildfires exacerbating fear and uncertainty–when we sequestered on our canyonside patio, beverages in hand, flipping peanuts to the mice and squirrels.

When Words Were Birds

A remote workshop on etymology (thanks, Natasha!), several enticing online words of the day, and last summer’s quarantine-induced backyard bird study combined to inspire “When Words Were Birds.” I’m delighted that it’s found a home with the literary journal Parhelion, a marvelous word itself, meaning “a bright spot in the sky appearing on either side of the sun, formed by refraction of sunlight through ice crystals high in the earth’s atmosphere.” Read it here!

Eleven Things I Remember About Liz

My portrait in words about an old friend and old times was published in A Year in Ink, Volume 13, the annual print anthology of San Diego Writers, Ink. Now you can read it here.

Quesadillas in Quarantine

Eating has presented challenges for everyone this past year and has been one of the biggest topics of conversation. I seized the opportunity to write about it, and my abecedarium “Quesadillas in Quarantine” is recently published in the national literary magazine MORIA.

My hardships have been nonexistent, and I’m aware of my good fortune while so many have suffered so much. Best wishes to all for good health and good eating as we stagger into another difficult year.

Pizza on Thursday

Today’s Thursday, and tonight I’ll have pizza, as I have on alternate Thursdays throughout the age of Covid; and that’s what I wrote about–more or less–in a single-sentence mind gush that muses and fuses on the way things are and how we adapt, because what else can we do?

“Pizza on Thursday, or, the isness of what is” is recently published in the Fall-Winter issue of Sleet Magazine.

In Praise of Bean Counters

A bean counter counts beans; a nitpicker picks nits. My recently published essay in Hobart is “In Praise of Bean Counters.”

If, like me, you are one, here’s to you; if not, maybe this will give you an appreciation for the detail-oriented among us.

Subjunctive Mood

Things to do during the long early days of quarantine: bake bread, read Proust, re-watch all 22 seasons of Midsomer Murders, assemble a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle, do workouts and/or yoga on Zoom, learn a language.

For better or for worse, and in spite of past failures, I tackled the latter and here’s my story: “Subjunctive Mood” was published in the Fall 2020 issue of DOOR = JAR: Door Is A Jar Literary Magazine.

Autumn in Paris

This is a true story of sorts, but not mine. My friend Eva may remember telling me about her trip to Paris some years ago for a friend’s milestone birthday. I’ve hung onto the idea all these years, tried to turn it into a personal essay, then forgot about it until I found it in my slush pile & redeemed it.

Here’s “Autumn in Paris,” my first published fiction after 90+ essays, in the current issue of Burningwood Literary Journal.

My Hair, Myself

Had I written this a few months later I could have included a section on pandemic hair–long & straggly, telltale roots–but this was from before, & I’m happy to have “My Hair, Myself” published in the summer issue of Eclectica.

A trifle for tense times that might find you humming “The Age of Aquarius.”