Tag: writing
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Winter
I said that, on the contrary, I had come to believe more and more in the virtues of passivity, and of living a life as unmarked by self-will as possible. One could make almost anything happen, if one tried hard enough, but the trying—it seemed to me—was almost always a sign that one was crossing…
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Houses and Homes
I’ve lived in seven, or, eight, or nine apartments, houses, abodes, since I left Berkshire Court in Isla Vista (left, then returned to, but I say left for now). I’ll count them, now, on paper, because when I try to count them in my head I start remembering the details of each, I lose track…
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Speculations
Today is my mom’s 62nd birthday. That means that 31 years ago, she was pregnant with me. It’s quite possible that 31 years ago, she was swimming in a pool in Danville, the family cat, Cow Kitty, by a window at home. Cow Kitty is the subject of one of my series of security questions,…
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In Writing
I know it’s not very zen of me, but I have been living in next January. Next January, I’ll move back to my beloved Marin hills. I’ll get a set of Eggshell pasta bowls from East Fork, they’re speckled, and they’ll compliment the dark wood paneling of the studio I’ll find, they’ll compliment the redwoods…
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Ways of Being
There were a couple of farmhouse summers that suffered from ant infestations. I wish I was exaggerating when I say infestations, but I assure you, I am not. If Mom was telling this story, she would remember the ants as only a minor inconvenience. But this time I am telling it. The infestations lined the…
Sophia Steffens 