Yesterday, I read a children’s book to a couple of seniors in high school. The book – entitled “If You Come to Earth” by Sophie Blackall – has been a recent favorite for my little one and me. We read it a couple of times every day, pausing together to examine the gorgeous illustrations, talking about what’s happening in each picture.  I wasn’t sure what the 18-year-olds would think. I’m drawn to the story itself, which focuses on explaining how things work on this planet to someone who has never before visited. I’m drawn to the varied experiences that are reflected in the pages. There are ..read more

It is sometimes good to just do what you feel like, even if it’s something vaguely embarrassing: having a decaf espresso on a sunny afternoon, paying cash for a trashy book you don’t want to have tracked on your credit card. Desire, honoring desire, takes practice ..read more

I would like to tell you about my little house, the writing studio that was once a shed. It is an indulgent backyard writing studio where, among other things, the small miracle is this: I write.  I recently put a new bookshelf in here, along with a secondhand loveseat, and now it feels like this room is almost complete, save for fully decorating it, save for hanging more pictures on the wall and weeding through the filing cabinet full of things I no longer need. This space is full of things that I love. Here are some of them:  An almost-complete collection of Maud Hart Lovelace book ..read more

I have been waking early this week – this year, the entirety of 2024 – though I don’t need to get up until my little one starts making noise. I have been getting up before my alarm; 4:55 and I’m ready to rise.  I like it, though I am tired.  In my annual New Year’s letter, I talked about the waves that have been roaring up against our coast lately. They’re slamming into the earth now; from the cross-legged perch where I sit in my living room, I can hear them, along with some sea lions barking, along with someone’s rooster down the street, along with the fog horn bleating on the ocean ..read more

I had a whole post written about Sandy Hook, as today is the 11th anniversary of the shooting there and I was thinking about it. After writing, I went and read about that day again, and I’m not going to post what I wrote. There are no words for that horror.  All I want to say is that I remember.  One of the ways I honor those who were there that day is by donating financially to an elementary school classroom each year. I use Donors Choose for that. If you are reading this and can do the same, I encourage you to find a project there that speaks to you; there are a lot of needs o ..read more

Halfway through November, more than halfway, already on the descent towards December: Thanksgiving is in a single week. It is nothing, no time at all, almost here, and on that day I will make a pie because I always make a pie on that day, and I will think about the Thanksgivings I’ve celebrated, here and there and way over there. I have been in this country every Thanksgiving, though throughout it, in California or in Texas or in Maryland or in Oklahoma, running Turkey Trots, eating pies. Making pies. It is important, to peel those apples, to roll out that dough, to fear every time that the pi ..read more

There is, on my dresser, a picture I took when my child was very little: his bare foot, at an angle because I was holding him across my lap, and the side of my dog’s neck as she laid on the couch next to us.  It’s a picture that captured several details of my life then: the hand-me-down pants he’s wearing a reminder of the way that people showed up for us, supporting this brand-new little life; the closeness of my dog a reminder of how she was never far from me, all those pandemic months.  I like the contrast of colors in the picture, the red of her collar and the green of the couch ..read more

I have no time to write. I used to think parents just weren’t using their time wisely. Now I know better. I didn’t understand the things that had to get done and the level of exhaustion at the end of the day. But: we returned to Galveston last weekend. My child’s first time, my millionth; my partner’s first, too. I hadn’t been in more than 4 1/2 years, which is the longest I’ve ever been away. It is shocking, how time passes. Not everything has changed, not at all, but some things have. My aunt’s house is no longer her house. There is a new coffee shop on the island that I liked a lot (Red Lig ..read more

I think: this is what it would be like if I lived here, walking home with my keys in my hand, self-assured and calm at the thought of my destination, cheap sandals from the cheap salon slap-slap-slapping against my feet. I would be used to this sweat, this heat; I would know where to find the best tacos, the best coffee, the best cannoli. I would go to the park at sunset and run, or at sunrise, or before, or after. I would not be afraid. A dead rat, not a problem, I’ve seen it a million times. I cross the street here, or here, but not here. I know what is coming. Just try to make eye contact w ..read more

When he is looking forward to something – getting into the inflatable backyard pool, say, or putting on his running shoes – my son shows it. He grips his small hands into fists, grins widely, tenses up his whole body with anticipation, and says, “I’m so exciting!”  It’s unbelievable: so cute, so pure.  I want to remember this. I want to remember how he says, “I want to hold you” when he needs to be picked up. I want to remember how he recites his whole name, how he skips numbers when he counts, how he tells me stories, how he likes to hear my own.  Right now, he often says, “Tel ..read more