Letter from Home | A collection of essays originally written for Flagstaff Live!

Navigation Menu

The cat’s meow; How we are who we are

The cat’s meow; How we are who we are

Posted by on Aug 27, 2015

  When my 21-year-old niece Carmen moved in with me six months ago, we visited the Humane Society one rainy Sunday to select a cat to bring into our petless lives. Before we got there, I decreed that the animal would be named Walter Cronkite, no matter the gender. Carmen was unfazed. She knew of my propensity for naming cats after broadcast...

Read More

Sleep talking; Courting nature’s sweet nurse

Sleep talking; Courting nature’s sweet nurse

Posted by on Jul 23, 2015

A few weeks ago I was staying the night at a friend’s house. It was well past dinnertime. Clean dishes nestled into the drying rack, and a spirited conversation had ebbed. My friend’s 6-year-old daughter held my hand as she guided me up the stairs to the guest room. I kissed her good night and told her I was going to sleep. “But where do you go?” she...

Read More

Little Debbie’s sweet fix; My adolescent drug of choice

Little Debbie’s sweet fix; My adolescent drug of choice

Posted by on Jun 18, 2015

I am 13 or 14. It’s a school night. Mom and I work in the kitchen, rattling plates into the dishwasher. My brothers and sister cluster in our wood-paneled family room watching Adam 12. Dad is away on business. I ask my mother about love: When does it come? How will I know? What was it like to fall in love? Mom answers matter-of-factly. Her tone suggests...

Read More

Saying grace; You have to work for it, and then it works for you

Saying grace; You have to work for it, and then it works for you

Posted by on Jun 4, 2015

  I was 7 or 8 when Mom enrolled me and my younger sister in ballet class with Miss Eileen. Even though I am more of a jazz hands and tap dance kind of girl, I was enthralled with the shoes and the costumes, the pale and milky leotards, the discipline. Someone decrepit sat at the piano plinking music. Lines of coltish girls followed Miss Eileen’s...

Read More

Indiantown; For the first time

Indiantown;  For the first time

Posted by on Apr 30, 2015

On a July day before my fifth grade school year began, Mom and Dad circled my three brothers, my sister and I. They told us we were moving to Indiantown, a one-stoplight village in rural South Florida. We’d be moving in a week to my grandfather’s cattle ranch, which was more Roseanne than Ralph Lauren. We’d live in a doublewide trailer encircled by some...

Read More