sugar’s grandma

“Hettie!” I waved until I got in her line of sight. “Your shoes!”

Gripping the soft frame of her white hair, as if to catch her balance, my friend un-Velcroed her sandals and thanked me. “I almost forgot.”

As we crossed the threshold, a woman stood from the cushioned wood daybed. She looked rather more like a small child unfurling herself from the arms of a parent than that of a mother pushing away her oldest daughter.  Continue reading

on writing

The Great Big Shoes

Creative essaying, creative nonfiction, personal-writing-in-response-to-whatever, meditative prose. Many notating terms for the genre hover in the academic universe, undefined, unchosen, simply there…where the genre, of course, sits as uncomfortably as a smallish woman in her eighth month of pregnancy sits. Continue reading