pearl jam + plaid. yep. really.
Things I forget about teaching children’s art classes: that I get really, really, really anxious in the final minutes before a session starts. That it always turns out to be perfectly okay. That, actually,… Read The Post
tintagel, 2008. One of those days, you know? Where it’s not really like anything bad’s happened — it’s just nothing’s happened. When you just wake up, and go to school, and do your homework, and come… Read The Post
Twenty-three on the fifteenth of the third month in twenty-eleven = just a little bit magical. Any odd number seems a lucky one to me, and this equation even had two of my most favorites,… Read The Post
Naomi’s birthday. Sixteen (since when?!). In the Venue, seven o’clock. We got there just past eight, alternately pushing past high school hipsters and cuddly couples to stand at the edge of the stairs, where we… Read The Post
Don’t worry. As long as you hit that wire with the connecting hook at precisely 88mph the instant the lightning strikes the tower. . . everything will be fine. Got my driver’s license, finally. I… Read The Post
In Indonesia, we wrote letters every week. Green letters, they’re called—every missionary writes them, but we wrote one more. One to President, another to each other. Lily and I signed them pulang pergi. There and back… Read The Post