I am in here.
At around the time that I left for college, the emptiness and loneliness that were unavoidably attached to our remote house finally got to my mother. Mom’s mothering instincts, which didn’t lessen with my leaving, needed an object. At that time, teddy bears were enjoying a surge of popularity among children, and thus my mother … Continue reading My mother's bears
Sometimes, it seems like I have two lives: one here in Boulder, one back in Cincinnati. I smoothy take up the reins of each as I arrive there. This is a very strange sort of double life. But my memory has played tricks on me. I remembered to bring all of the camera’s cords and … Continue reading Boulder in June
1. The cut-off date
My father always loved the Old West. Our house walls, downstairs, held what seemed like dozens of paintings of cowboys and soldiers and Indians, and I was brought up to revere the names of Frederic Remington, Charles M. Russell, and George Catlin. I would stare from the vantage points of the game or enemy being … Continue reading Out West
white pebble 