Miner

Fambly doggie...I only get custody on rare jaunts to Oregon.

the grammas are coming!

Some octigenarians wear purple. My gramma wears LEAPORD PRINT.

Whoa, sister...

My wee sister. Ousted from the skating team at an early age, she channeled her huff into an old Singer. Fringey numbers for me, lavish trimmed outfits for Warren, and soon our skating shows were renowned not for their graceful unity, but for outfits worthy of Blades of Glory. Realizing her talent was being wasted on a few cut-rate has-beens, Sneugorkaette intelligently packed up her needles and fled the family circus, opting instead to sew calmer fashions for the citizens of the South Hill, Spokane.

Genetics

The best thing is, we're at THE fanciest upscale chi-chi restaurant in Spokane. No, the best thing is Mom got hit on by some youngster my age. Don't tell Dad.

a sow and a cow

I actually never intended to be a graphic designer. Nay, my imagined future had me twirling as an ice dancer. Raised at the hefty knee of our Norwegian mother Sneugorka, my brother and I could skate before we could walk. Backwards. And forwards. We were naturals. Everyone on the ice gawked at our unprecedented glory. Yet, somehow, it all slipped away into salaries and phone calls. Was it Warren's horrible taste in headwear? Our profanely talented mother/manager, who we could never seem to outskate?

Either way, we got outta Ideeho. Yeehaw!

another day at the office

smoky treats and medicine sticks

I don't smoke. Not anymore. Nope. Gives the tummy a lurch. But, I'll always be fascinated by a box of foil-wrapped papery tobacco. It reminds me of being little, the blue haze always floating just over my little sister's head in the kitchen. Hugs from mom and dad and Aunt Sandy and Nana. Tom Robbins once hosted an entire novel inside a pack of Camels, the first cigarette I ever tried, in a little alley Milo swore was magical at a certain sideways-light time of the morning. (It was after school.) I could list past flames by names or just as readily their preferred cigarette brand.
Anyway, smoky bars are going cold turkey and the teeth of the American public just keep getting whiter. Cigarettes are a whisper away from being just another icon of the past, a quick authentic addition to a nostalgic Halloween costume, an ancient ritual for ol' times sake like drive ins: we will on some very special occasion present a pack at a serious party, explain its significance to the younger ones, and lean into twilight and porch railings, ashing like black-and-white grainy starlets onto the shadow of ourselves below.