In the morning when my alarm goes off, I roll from side to side in my cozy sheets, stretch my legs out long and point my toes. I gently rub my belly and breathe deeply. I wipe my eyes and drink the water sitting on my nightstand before my feet hit the ground. I walk to the window, slide the plush white curtains to the edge, and allow my eyes to get their first glimpse of the morning sky. Inhale & Exhale.Read More
“It was 1997, and I was 23 and working in Boston in my first professional job as a sales service representative for an educational publisher. I answered the 1-800 hotline and spoke with customers all day. But my goal was to become an editor.
One unsuspecting day about six months into the job, my coworkers and I were gathered to learn that our department was being eliminated.”Read More
I met Trice at The Absinthe House on Pearl Street. The bar doesn’t exist anymore, but when it did they had weekly reggae nights. I spotted him immediately—that woven tam cap slouching over two kind eyes, those baggy jeans swaying gracefully to the music. He asked me to dance, and I asked him what he did—proving that first impressions aren’t everything. That sometimes, the soul’s story sounds like The Wailers when it sings.Read More
Inside, 20 teenagers—many of them scarred, tattooed, broken-looking—talked in small groups. After I was introduced, the kids looked at me somewhat suspiciously. As I told them why I loved this incredible story of a young boy’s journey across the frozen Badlands of the Dakotas in search of his fugitive older brother, it occurred to me that I might not be able to give away any books at all.Read More
Outside of Austin, about an hour away in Smithville, on a lonely, remote road that leads to an even more lonely and remote plot of land, there is a magical place called Scream Hollow Wicked Halloween Park. Like the fairy land of Celtic lore that reveals itself at twilight, Scream Hollow is only open to visitors during the most magical month of all. October.Read More
Leaving a doctor’s appointment, I noticed a police officer walking along behind an emerald bird about six inches tall.
I recognized the bird as a Monk parrot. More than a dozen years ago I’d had one as a pet and had read articles about feral colonies of these brilliant-colored birds living in Austin. Was this an escaped pet or the descendant of one who traded its cage for freedom?
“Have you tried to pick it up?” I asked the policeman.
“No, but you’re welcome to give it a shot.”Read More
As we ambled along Newport, Rhode Island's Cliff Walk, soaking in the coastal breezes, my then-boyfriend (now husband) Steve announced, "someday we're going to bring little Sebastian here."
"Who's little Sebastian?" I asked.
"The dog we're going to get," he said matter-of-factly.Read More