Unfinished or quasi-finished prose that hasn’t been published elsewhere
I suppose it’s time to give my readers fair warning: After 19 years this blog, and the Tinyletter based upon it, have moved in a more eclectic direction. If you want to unfollow me now, I won’t take it personally. But I’d love it if you stayed along for the ride.
One Saturday in July I went to B Street Books with the 11-year-old to hear the author John Muir Laws talk about his field guide to Sierra Nevada wildlife and his approach to keeping a nature journal.
I was on the third leg of the Dolphin Club’s Escape From Alcatraz Triathlon, and so far that morning I’d already swum from Alcatraz to Aquatic Park (58 minutes), bike to Mill Valley (about an hour), and run as far as Muir Woods. I figured I needed to conserve energy and take the fastest route.
The 17 y.o. came to me this morning full of outrage about something one of my friends had posted on
I was under the weather the entire first week of July, so I spent July 4 in bed, reading this
According to the Marathon Swimmers Federation, the minimum distance to qualify a swim as a “marathon swim” is 10 kilometers.
It’s Spring, since yesterday, and I’m swimming again. The familiar soreness of the arm and shoulder muscles, the cup of
I was reluctant at first: A friend had taken the ModPo poetry course — twice — and she’s now pursuing an
To sum up: there is a lot of research showing that Facebook makes people feel like shit. So maybe, one
I’m joining ValiMail as head of communications, because I like email and want it to work right.