I've written extensively about my daughter, and a little about my youngest son Thomas, but in the background of these thoughts has always been my relationship with my oldest, Matthew. I need to correct that. Matthew was the child who arrived when I was still a child, barely 21 years old, a college student pregnant... Continue Reading →
I'm moving furniture tonight. Sometimes moving furniture helps me get unstuck, jolted out of a space where I can't make sense. Tonight I'm doing it because I need familiar things around me. The kids (sans one) will be coming over for Thanksgiving, and I want this to feel like a home, something they're familiar with.... Continue Reading →
Dear Mr. Russo, I attended your panel discussion yesterday at Wordstock, and talked briefly with you afterward at the book signing. I am so grateful you took the time to come to Portland, because in addition to the fact that you are a great and well-loved American writer, you were one of my creative writing... Continue Reading →
Remember all that stuff we packed? The POD full of 174 (THE HORROR!) carefully inventoried boxes that we set into a container three years ago? It's finally here. Well, not HERE, like, on my lap, but here, like, in Portland. So close I can almost smell the memories. Tomorrow, it will be here. Well, not... Continue Reading →
Today, I found out that two people I have met since I moved to Portland are leaving; two unrelated people, from different corners of my life. One is leaving to retire at the coast, one is leaving to build a career in another city. Both are dear to me, each expressing a "native Portland" personality... Continue Reading →
Meg Currell 