On Saturday morning there was a man on the Balboa Island promenade painting a copy of The Raft of the Medusa. He stood on the sand on the other side of the sea-wall. Aaron and I stopped our walk to watch him. Aaron told him it was a cool painting and that he had just...
Photo by Vic Hinterlang / Shutterstock.com We drive south, in the direction of the McAllen Foreign Trade Zone, where my husband’s machine shop is nestled among many others of similar vein, and the international bridge—one of twenty-eight conduits of sanctioned traffic...
Photo by nbnserge/ Shutterstock.com I’m sitting at a terminal in Charles de Gaulle Airport, wondering about the last time I washed my hands. It’s crowded and no one is making eye contact. I don’t know much about Charles De Gaulle, besides that he was a man in old...
as i descend through the clouds over rakovnik, i see the beautiful city laid out before me like a banquet of setting suns. the iodine lights of ten thousand streetlamps below me like candles, like the sun shining through bullet holes in a vast steel sheet, like a...
Dear Mom, Hi! I keep wanting to call you, but this is easier. I’m writing from Laugarvatn, Iceland. The wind has been shaking my wooden, low-gabled room with its many windows for three non-consecutive days. Yesterday it took a break and let me catch up on sleep. It...
Photo: “The Green Line in Nicosia (Cyprus)” by Marco Fieber is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 I would like to tell you about the kafenion, about the cat that lived there, and the cheese rinds I fed it. About the coffee-shop owner who was hit by a car, and the...
