Stephanie says

I have vivid dreams. They explode into my deep sleep with movie intensity, reel after reel. Something I suspect rather peculiar is the particular location of these dreams. The vast majority of them are in two settings: one atop our grassy hill where I lived as a child in pastoral Sitkum in a little, pink stick-built house surrounded by myrtle trees; the other a two-story porched house set amongst towering trees where a middle-school friend lived at the end of our lane in Eugene. As I write that line I realize I visualize these same locations while reading. The plantation at Tara is at the Eugene location in my mind. Think about your dream locales peeps. Do you have primary locations where dreams occur? I’d love to hear your thoughts. The other night my dream took me to the seashore but through a curious landscape shape shift, now an ocean cove butted up to the Sitkum grassy hill. The actual ocean was just beyond a peninsula, which one could reasonably expect to protect the cove from br...

From the time he was a very small boy he had a recurring dream. More familiar each time, he finds himself in a residential area in unknown city. He is confused because he is alone, walking on a sidewalk on a street lined with hovering and somehow big menacing houses, late at night, catching glimpses of the moon as scudding clouds cross the night sky. Fog billows and condenses around street lamps glowing dim then bright in wafts of mist. He’s not allowed to be out at after dark and he is certainly not permitted to be wandering unfamiliar city streets alone. He is very frightened but continues walking. He notices a twisted, wickedly speared wrought iron fence next to the sidewalk, looks up and sees a square multi-storied brick house fronted with many darkened windows, a column lined vestibule centered between them. Trees are creaking and groaning in the breeze. Gazing at the house his feelings of foreboding escalate to terror. He knows something bad is about to happen. Something really, ...

Must renew my passport, a task I’ve put off for two years. But gotta do it as I’m meeting my daughter in Barcelona shortly. So I woman up and hit The Shutterbug, a camera shop that shoots passport photos. This is the first time the clerk who’s helping me has done one, giving me an instant feeling of dread. She is shorter than me which results in a shot up my nose making me look like a pinhead with slits for eyes. No neck and my hair just looks like a Cocker Spaniel. All this confidence stealing for a mere $9.99. I’m horrified by the end result. Glancing at my expired passport once home, I remember thinking that photo made me look maniacal. Amazing the perception change in 12 years… Now I think I looked just fine. Well yeah, younger and thinner, and a little giddy with excitement. I compared the two photos, then and now, knowledge I’m stuck with the next passport photo for 10 years struck fear to my vanity. Melissa took a look, I noticed she sort of pursed her mouth, trying t...

He’s on the phone, on hold. I’m getting ready to leave. I’m pacing, waiting for the phone call to end. I turn and it seems I’ve caught him checking out my ass. Maybe. But he’s just gazing at me with this steady look. You know the one. I realize in that heartbeat he has fallen in love with me. My knees are jelly.

I work for a man with a passion for Ducks football – to the extent that our firm maintains the landscape at Autzen Stadium for free. The season for Ken is a feverish mix of season tickets, boisterous tailgate parties and of course, the main event. The GAME. Which hopefully includes jetting off to the playoffs. And even more hopefully, a WIN this year. My knowledge of football is limited. I dated a guy in high school nicknamed “Tasmanian Devil” for his prowess on the field – hey that counts because I sat in the bleachers and pretended to watch. I am partial to the term “tight end” (position) just because of the image it conjures up in my bawdy mind. And of course, the actual football is a funny, oblong pigskin ball. Oh and you get seven points for something. Ken invited me to the Oregon:Washington State. “Thank you for thinking of me. But no. I don’t like football.” “What?” “Yeah, I really hate football.” Big stare, long pause, funny look. This was clearly so out of his realm of the pos...

Written by Amy Tan, published in 1996. I’ve read a lot of her novels over the years with great enjoyment; the first I heard of this book was when my friend Steven lent me his copy. My nose was stuck in that book until I finished. Amy Tan is a great storyteller. I enjoy her portrayal of a modern American heroine’s interactions with her Chinese immigrant sister. The characters are fully developed and take on a life of their own. It’s a good read. This novel is about fate and reincarnation, two subjects that enthrall me. Right now I’m particularly intrigued with the concept of fate. BFF Melissa and I have a long-running discussion about fate. She’ll comment about some life event “It it’s meant to be, it will be.” And I’ll counter with “So does that mean you believe in fate?” “No, not necessarily.” “But if you believe what’s meant to be is – well then isn’t that predestination?” “No, not necessarily.” Mind you, I’m merely trying to pin Melissa down on her actual belief, (or perhaps drive h...