When I told my mom I’d decided to leave Paris and by extension the Louvre, the Canal St. Martin, the Marais, the amazing Chinese place with one-euro appetizers (carmelized lotus root! spicy green beans!) and move back to damp Normandy, she was not convinced. “Why would you want to leave Paris?” she asked, as though […]Read more "Leaving Paris"
I have been camping in my house for a week. This sounds strange when I say it to people. They ask, to clarify, if I’ve moved back into my house. Like every question this year, the answer is complicated, full of footnotes and asides and more questions—“did I tell you…?” “Did you know that…?” “Well, […]Read more "Camping"
I’ve lived in my home for seven years. It’s been full of joy and heartache, struggle and fun. A few months after moving in, we found our bathroom rotting away. This was a fix we had requested the owner complete, and he did a half-assed job of it, therefore not finding the extensive rot, and […]Read more "Goodbye House"
Dear Tucson, You’re probably wondering why I didn’t say goodbye. You’re probably upset, and I understand how you would feel that way. If you step back from your raw emotion, however, I think that you’ll start to see the rivets in our lives that led us here. We weren’t happy, Tucson. Not together. I know […]Read more "The Break-Up Letter"
It’s raining and I’m carrying a cardboard box under my umbrella. This box banged up against my hip squared under one arm, a cube-shaped child waiting to be filled. My moving box straddles the narrow hip saddle where babies, baskets, and boys ride alongside. Women were built to carry the weight of the world. I […]Read more "Fragile – Keep Dry – This Way Up"
When I was in middle school, my hobby was writing terrible historical fiction. There was the time-traveling doomed romance on the Titanic, and the Oregon Trail epic with no plot. But the tale I thought was going to change the American literature landscape was my revolutionary war novel, Eliza Jane. Eliza became a spy for […]Read more "Eliza in Spring"