I've waited in many surgical waiting rooms, nervously sorting the contents of my purse or reorganizing a file box I brought just to release some of the tension that builds when getting my child ready for surgery. My projects never lasted as long as the surgeries, due to my excessive, jangled speed and the way surgeries... Continue Reading →
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 →
Meg Currell 