I watched from my waiting room chair. A snow-headed ancient, bundled into a thick car coat, came in through the automatic double doors of the hospital specialty center. He leaned heavily on a cane with his right hand as he lurched forward, steadying himself with his left hand on the shoulder of a slight and equally snow-headed woman with glasses and handbag and long coat.

Continue reading… "Thoughts from a Seat in the Waiting Room"

My breath catches in my throat; all my muscles tense. My right eyebrow automatically snaps up. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, reopening what remained of last time’s struggle for emotional control. ‘Not again. Just one day can’t you leave me alone, or at least put a little variety into your insults? Ugh, just not right now.’

Continue reading… "Stupid Dyke"

I woke up to the smell of my mom’s homemade porridge. It smelled like cinnamon sugar with raisins. It smelled so good! I got out of bed. After I reached the door I went down the hallway. Just then I noticed that yesterday I did not have a hallway. Then in a curious way I walked down the stairs that I did not have yesterday either.

Continue reading… "Day Dreamer"

When I was five I had a small bike named The Green Monster. I fell down a lot. I went to the Lopez School track. Patience was whipping around and around. Risto had a dirt bike. I wobbled but I stayed up! I did eight victory laps. Then I went home.

Continue reading… "Good Bad Good"

Recently I received my membership card for the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. The next day I deleted my name from a listserve for the state public health association. One rite of passage followed another as I make a living as a nurse, writer, and artist – a balancing act I’ve been refining for nearly ten years.

Continue reading… "Balancing Act"

To look at me, you wouldn’t think I was the kind of guy who wears jewelry, but I happen to own a Northwest Coast Indian bracelet. It just goes to show, you never know.

Continue reading… "Bracelet"

Karen was crying. As I walked along the rickety balcony that led past her room on the second story of our hotel, little more than a grey-brick family compound around a cluttered courtyard, I could hear her sobbing.

Continue reading… "Camera"

Every time I sing that folk song, I think of the Stehekin River, formed by glaciers of the North Cascades and flowing into Lake Chelan in North Central Washington. That old river changed dramatically during our second winter living on its banks, and the “Flood of ’95” left its mark on me.

Continue reading… "Rolling Old River"

A beautiful young woman, Lily Grimaldi, is delivering her first baby on the kitchen floor of her grandmother’s old farmhouse in the country. Helping her is hunky first love and former husband (and uncle) Holden Snyder. Damien Grimaldi, her current and third hunky husband — and the father of the baby — is enormously jealous of Holden.

Continue reading… "My Dirty Little Secret"

I was in a kayak September 11, paddling in the serene waters of Puget Sound with my husband and four friends. Just before launching our boats, a friend called with news of the plane crashes at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. We phoned family to reassure and be reassured that everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Continue reading… "In the Wake of September 11"