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Tumbleweed.

(Photo by Kevin Bosc on Unsplash)

Some days, I feel spent even before I set my feet on the ground. Not physically, but on the creative front. I drink copious amounts of coffee, play with the kids, walk the dog and read an excellent book. But when I sit down in front of my screen, I come up with an enormous ball of blah. There are no ideas in the old noggin, not even a kernel of one — all I can hear is the empty echoing of half-thoughts, tumbleweeding across the arid landscape. Evenings have always been my favorite part of the day to write, but recently I’ve begun glancing at the watch, feeling the blankness grow and consume me as the clock approaches 7.

Continue reading“Tumbleweed.”

30 laps- #thisisAutism

Nirav almost always joins us on family hikes. Up and down the windy California coastline or deep inside massive redwood forests. He enjoys the exercise, the outdoors, and our company. Putting one foot in front of the other while the wind sings in his hair, echoing the cadence of his sister’s voice. There is no pressure to participate, so he ambles long, at peace with everything. Even if he doesn’t say a word, we know he’s watching, listening, and living every part. Continue reading“30 laps- #thisisAutism”

3 years.

(Photo by James Eades on Unsplash)

My brother-in-law got called the N-word yesterday. My sister, Koko, and he were house hunting in a tiny little Oregon town. They were walking out of a cute house in an affluent neighborhood when they heard it.

A couple of Caucasian teenagers yelled from across the street. “N–!”

Continue reading“3 years.”

Sex, death and big little things – part 2.

The second part of this installment deals with topics traditionally considered “not for kids.”

So you’ve put in the hard work and raised your children to know human bodies — anatomy, bodily functions, and menstruation. They have asked you questions, and you’ve done your best to answer them. So what’s next?Continue reading“Sex, death and big little things – part 2.”

Medhel an Gwyns

legacy(Photo by Charisse Kenion on Unsplash)

I read somewhere that it takes three to four generations for a person to be forgotten. Their names lost, their existence erased in its entirety. Memories don’t last forever — even the deepest roots we put down are often pulled out by time. I don’t know who my great-grandparents were or what they looked like. And all I leave behind for my children will be diluted and washed away by my great-grandchildren, who will never know me. That’s just how it works.

Continue reading“Medhel an Gwyns”

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