The next morning the sun shone brightly through the cabin windows before my alarm clock rang. Sunshine in the mountains has a certain quality, as if that few thousand feet
She knew who I was because I had called in to secure a spot and presumably nobody else had done so that day. I was given the keys and a brief rundown of the area, Hank was given a few dog treats and knocked over a stand of s’mores skewers. It was all so matter of fact and immediate that Los Angeles felt even further than 846 miles away.
A series of machinations led to another, even younger-looking tow truck driver appearing some 30 minutes after we first arrived. He was prepared to drive me the two hours to
The noises emanating from the Land Cruiser’s transmission were grim. There was the uneasy whine of a transfer case that couldn’t quite disengage, the sickening spinning sound of a slipping
“The middle of nowhere” is a loaded idiom. It’s a vague-yet-precise phrase that invokes a certain situation or location, and which could be positive or negative depending on who says it. It offers up visions of amber waves and orange plateaus, of abandoned filling stations and faded glimpses of the past’s future. It is a place devoid of the decades of social construction required to populate a city with its traps and trappings.
A couple of weeks ago, I began to examine the oppressive idea that, “You can’t just do that.” Whatever that is. Then the notes and memories came flooding in about
I recently became aware of the improbable story of Amanda Coker. It is noteworthy in several ways. Firstly, she just accomplished something that is radically difficult to convey in words: