Plastic Farm AnimalsCamille lives with her soul mate Bob in the back woods of central North Carolina where she hikes, gardens, cooks, and writes.
Against proper judgment but tacitly supported by their spouses, two of the sons and the oldest, a daughter, drove into the heart of Amish country. On the surface they were checking on the condition of their parents’ vacant house, euphemistically referred to as “The Farm.” In reality, it was voyeuristic reconnaissance, and this year the […]
As he does every year, Bob rents a car and drives us to DC, our first stop on an annual trek to see my parents and four of my five brothers. We spend the night at our friend Ned’s and pick up my brother Joe at Dulles in the morning. He’d nearly missed his flight. […]
I can’t abide clutter and yet I do it to myself every morning. After I’ve brushed my hair and teeth, after plopping down on the carpet beside the bed for some speed yoga, after boiling water for cocoa, I boot up the laptop and sit in front of double south-facing windows. I straighten my desk. […]
“Kill chicken, show monkey,” the Chinese doorman at the Tianjin Hyatt shrugged in reference to a geopolitical news story. This was in 1998 when Bob and I were working in northern China, living in a hotel, absorbing all the nuances of the Far East. I pictured emboldened macaques terrorizing a barnyard flock, the farmer stomping […]
My brother John shows his greatness in small ways. Often it’s the unkind word that fails to leave his lips. His patience with our aging parents is immeasurable. Ninety and eighty-four, they cling stubbornly to their illusion of independence. If not for John’s tireless support they would be paying for assisted care. Dad lives with […]