Saturday. I was taking Muriel to London for the weekend. A father daughter trip to the theater. I remembered the little girl who loved time with her daddy.
“How was school yesterday?”
Beijing, Delhi, Tokyo. My body hums to vibrations of an airplane, while standing in a bright hotel room. Canberra, Singapore, Hanoi. My body knows it’s night. The LED clock disagrees, continuing its advance.
The suitcase bounces on the bed. Continue reading Recharge
It was Uncle Tim’s idea. He presented his brainchild over a bag of Doritos. “Let’s go south.”
My brother laughed. “South? Where?” Continue reading Gone South
Visiting New York is like being kidnapped by aliens. My senses are assaulted by unfamiliarity. Traffic, shouts, horns. A living kaleidoscope. Steam billows out of grates. Spices, coffee, Continue reading Just Visiting
Jessica’s business trip had some success. Despite problems leading up to it, it came together in the end. The client was pleased and committed. Her boss thanked her.
The flights home had been delayed. Her phone died. She’d left her charger at the hotel. Continue reading Travel Blues
Once upon a time, I started my own dot-com. I thrived on the eighteen hour days. Living in airports, the unending emails, the pressure. I told myself it was all worth it. Every day, until it became my mantra. Until I became my mantra. Because in the end there was the rush Continue reading Board Meeting
“Hoodoo. The rock formations. They’re called hoodoos.” Continue reading Bryce Canyon
It’s Saturday morning and I hear the sounds of Porto outside the hotel window. The city greets a new morning, while you burrow further under the duvet. I open the curtains further and look out. A bicycle and rider zip past at break-neck speed, half airborne over the cobbles, heading downhill toward the Douro river. I smile into the cool morning air.
I hear you roll over behind me. “You’re awake.” It sounds half accusation, half disbelief. Continue reading A Morning in Porto
Heavy rains falter; the promenade is awash with the runoff of deluge. Soggy bike tires hum, squeegee forward. Before us the sun explodes forth, cracking the sky. A last evening ride in la Cota d’Azur.
With the smell of rain and sea and the golden light reflecting above and below, there is closure. Moods rise and fall as melodies, delightful to dark, back again. Continue reading Crack the Sky
“No. But our hist—”
“Our history teacher was a moron.”
His eyebrows shot up at that. Then he snickered. “I suppose he was.” Continue reading Mirador de Colom