My first car was a true exercise in character-building. She was a 1982 Buick Skylark, given to me by my parents when I was 17. I didn’t have a license, but I drove it anyways. When I turned 18, I drove it to my high school, and dropped out. I also accidentally hit Mr. Mole’s … Continue reading the skylark
The stories my mom would tell me about Christopher’s father, her first husband, Erasmo, made him an almost mythical figure to me. She was 18 years old when they met. He was new to LA from Honduras, and she was new from Brooklyn. While they were dating, they would leave their houses at the same … Continue reading frog memories
I’m in Huntington Beach with the loves of my life, Babbi, Glenn, and their two dogs, KC and Kayla. Babbi and Glenn were my regulars at the diner for a long time, and then we became friends. Babbi came with me to visit the campus at CSUF, and they were at my graduation two years … Continue reading my pack
Einstein, the most gangster scientist of the 20th century, thought of space and time as one and the same. His theory of relativity is complicated, but one of the solutions to his equations is, if an object in space is heavy enough, it will cause spacetime to bend, like a bowling ball on a trampoline. … Continue reading spacehead pt. 2
There’s a story on my mom’s side of the family about my great-grandfather. He and his brother left Ireland together. One brother went to Australia, and my great-grandfather started his life in New York City; they never saw each other again. My great-grandfather was an alcoholic who worked as a trolley driver and died young. … Continue reading dna
Once upon a time I accepted that that thing my mom always does, where she exchanges life stories with a stranger she accidentally bumped into on aisle 6—I do that thing. It once led to an unlikely and delightful experience in Hawaii with my friend, Tracie, poet and blogger extraordinaire. Honestly, Tracie and I weren’t … Continue reading 見知らぬもの
My fascination with birds started with the ostrich farm my mom and I lived above for a few months when I was a girl. Every morning I’d go downstairs, and one of the workers would put a little apron around my waist, and send me into the corral to feed the birds. I would disappear … Continue reading birds
Rainer Maria Rilke has a line in Letters to a Young Poet where he says you have to ask yourself, must I write? Yes. But I woke up every day for a long time wishing I wanted to be an engineer. Wishing that I looked at formulas and problem-solving with the same love and vision … Continue reading requirements
I’ve been reading PostSecret every Sunday for over 10 years. It began as an art project out of Maryland by a guy named Frank Warren. Frank asked people to mail him their secrets, anonymously. To write down whatever it was they could never say out loud, and post it to him in the mail. He started posting … Continue reading sunday rituals
"Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land." from Song of Myself, Walt Whitman My favorite … Continue reading bold swimming
Britany Jean Golden 