What is the import of a splash of milk billowing up gray and beige under the tinted surface of my morning tea? Who can say whether it is better to spend a day on a snowy hillside or in the radiator-heated coziness of my office? And what does it matter…
Taking The Pomegranate
Poetry is an important art form, and part of that import is in the inherent subjectivity of the genre. What you take away from a given poem will absolutely be different than what I take away from it. And isn't that marvelous? A single stream of thought on the page,…
A Mug of Kakao
Yesterday, I had lunch with a new friend and her four-year-old niece. The little girl spoke no English, with a couple of pleasant exceptions. "Okay." "Gimme five." "Yo dude." "Makes sense," I said, sipping my peppermint mocha. "She's spending so much time with a California girl." "Believe it or not,…
Resolute
As of midnight on New Year's Eve, I only had one spoken-aloud resolution. "I want to take the time to sit and eat breakfast each morning before checking my email." It was a noble, if somewhat unambitious, goal. I've noticed that my heart races and I can't calm my mind…
The Giraffe: An Exercise
A few months ago, I co-launched an expat women's writing group here in Oslo. We have eight talented, enthusiastic members, hailing originally from countries all over the globe. I love my group. Seeing them every other week lifts my spirits and inspires me to write often and better. (Note: We…
Our Christmas Card
Christmas cards and Christmas letters, chronicles of our year at a time of supreme reflection, appear to be a very American phenomenon. It's one I like. I have a box of cards collected over the years from my friends, and in the pictures I can see them fall in love.…
Evening Star
At first I think it is a plane, the first star in the evening sky. So bright, it seems like the pearled end of a pin stuck through the fabric of the sky to hold it in place. So bright, I can see it even though the sun hasn't entirely…
The Fiction Spectrum
The black digits blinked against the fluorescent orange background of our alarm clock. 1:30 a.m. All the bedroom lights were still on. Jonathan and I were sitting up and staring at each other across the rumpled down comforters. Our expressions were heavy, numb, the calm after a storm.…