Our father was a big-wig at the Oregon Fish Commission, and the freezer in our spacious mock Tudor home in Clackamas was always chock full with wild salmon and bull trout. My twin brother Jake and I gorged on the rich bouillabaisse and fricassee dishes that our mother served up each evening at exactly seven
If pushed, Maisie said the TV was crap, the weather was crap, the food was gross and the art gave her nightmares. But Grandad was OK. That was, if pushed. Usually Maisie’s phone conversations were a series of grunts and monosyllables. Her mother let her express her feelings. ‘O.K., talk to you on Wednesday, Green
Despite having not seen him in two years, Adam knows his father’s hair and beard will have recently been dyed white, and he will appear professorial wearing wire framed glasses and a sleeveless woolen cardigan. You see, Michael Douglas has re-entered the Marvel Universe in Ant Man and the Wasp, as Hank Pym, and Adam’s
It was a slow Sunday in late July in a small northern Italian town. The sun bullied its way through as I stood in the crowds of people at the tiny train station. The afternoon heat reached out, bringing forth the smell of the metal from the train rails. Unwashed hair is what it smelled
They had lost Father. Amelia held Mother’s hand, the two of them giggling together as they made their way through the forest. They were surrounded by vibrant green: in the trees’ thick leaves, in the crunching undergrowth, in the moss that crept up the stones. The air smelled sweet. Even at six years old, Amelia
