Books are gentle companions. Usually.
Except for that one time I was just about murdered by books.
That was twenty years ago . . .
***
I didn't know what to do with my
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I met Mia for the first time at my tennis club. A small Chinese woman with dark brown eyes and short-cropped black hair, she greeted me with a heavy Chinese accent.
"Are you Ken?" she asked.
To my
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Autumn's here—Happy New Year!
Not for me, that pallid substitute in January with its noisemakers and forgotten resolutions. My calendar resets annually with the opening of classroom doors, no
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abecedarian a novice learning the rudiments of a subject, a beginner or amateur; a student; straightforward, simplified; in literature, a work arranged in order according to the alphabet ... [+]
Out in the world, no one sleeps. No one, no one.
No one sleeps.
—Federico García Lorca, "Sleepless City (Brooklyn Bridge Nocturne)"
Madrid 2007. Sometime after 3 am. In six
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My hands used to create magic. I think with the increasing demands of adulthood, they've had their spark pulled right out of them. My little sister's hands still glisten with it, but I fear he ... [+]
After my father toured what would become our neighborhood in Fairfax, California, he knocked on the nearest door and asked the man who answered if it was nice living there.
That man told me
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We have to wear blank black clothes to mask class so our selves don't intrude.
People with hair in their face must pin their hair off their face.
When you're wearing black and have your face
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1)
At exactly 5:50 p.m., your mother-in-law will anxiously announce, "Someone needs to go get the crabs right now!" When you first met her, shortly after meeting her son, you called her by he
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It looks like a ghost heart. And it feels a little like Jello.
—Doris Taylor, bioengineer
I.
On the radio show Speaking of Faith, researcher Doris Taylor is telling us how to build
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1
It was 1983 and I was six years old, riding between my father and brother in my father's Oldsmobile, back when front seats stretched from door to door. My father drove, and my brother, who was
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It had been silent for several seconds and I knew I had to say something.
"So we're not Italian?"
It was the only question I could think of. I could tell my mom wanted more but was relieved I
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The familiar scent of earl gray tea sends me back to my grandma’s living room. When I was in elementary school, I’d come over multiple times a week and we’d sit on her off-white couch drinking ... [+]
It was after 10:30 at night. I was surrounded by towers of nondescript apartment complexes over 20 stories high, though the middle courtyard was graced with beautiful trees hiding maze-like ... [+]
We drove south on York Road, passing the large brick house that always stole my attention. I peered past my mother's arms and the steering wheel, to take another long, unblinking look. The exterio ... [+]
The black man who approached from the rear of the gathering at my father's burial looked to be one hundred years old. He was frail, but not bent. He walked haltingly, supported by two black ... [+]