I write to consider place, culture, memory, longing. I write to understand why a person does something—especially something unexpected. I write to surprise myself.
I write essays about Hanford, about coffee, the accumulation of clutter, Post-it notes, food, hymn singing, our dog Misha, about a Charlie McCarthy puppet, a stairway walk, about giving your heart, about the care of the central line of a stem cell transplant patient.
I write stories about a bridge club, a violinist, a piano teacher, a muse, a linguist, a small-town photographer, a woman whose mother believes she will be taken in the rapture, about the earth as an overworked overheated college professor.
I write about Vi Hilbert.