Musings on My Father While in Moscow
My Dad always loved Russian literature. Every once in a while he’d plop down one of his books on my bed for me to read, but I never would pick it up. The books’ slow,...
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Lies of Pond Painters
When I heaved myself onto the dock, I was tinted yellow. I was also slightly oily, with subtle odors of mud and sulfur. I grinned at my reflection and breathed deeply, inebriated by the scent of crisp...
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Peculiar Friends: The Tale of A Goat And His Boy
The heat of the Saharan sun beat down on our minivan full of sweaty, tired tourists. The convection oven with wheels intensified my hunger and my deep craving for salty, deep-fried Americanism:...
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On Wings Like Eagles
I must admit, when my mother first pitched the idea of zip lining through the trees in the beautiful forests of Alaska, I was nervous, my mind instantly filled with questions and concerns. What if I...
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In Stitches
Blood dripped from the patient’s thumb as an intern jabbed the crescent needle into the nail. The man felt no pain, as he’d received painkillers moments earlier. Clad...
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Assisi: St. Francis’ Fertile Fields
The golden glow of the pastoral Tuscan countryside had lulled us into a stupor from which our tour guide had so rudely awakened us. He announced that we were taking a stop outside Assisi for lunch, claiming...
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