Sometimes a story buzzes around in my head for a while before I am able to get it right — this is certainly the case with my story for today. I like to ask people what their first memories are of. For some people it's just a fleeting impression and for others it is in amazing clarity with lots of details.
Christine’s first memory was a flood of orange juice. The cascading fall of it as it slipped out of her grasp and spread into a large puddle in front of the fridge, the pulpy bits lodging themselves between her toes. Why mom kept it in that glass pitcher, she never thought to ask. Her mother was the one who found Christine standing in the juice puddle, and she lifted her onto the sink counter to wash her ankles and toes with warm water.
Listen to A Brilliant Shade of Blue. And tell me what you would think about if you had the time to sit still with your own thoughts.
That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: A Brilliant Shade of Blue

Once upon a time, adults loved stories, too.

Arts

Literature

Performing Arts

Design

Food

Fashion & Beauty

Visual Arts

My story today is centered around the idea that many people make their permanent homes in places where most people only vacation.
There were never any curtains here. Something about the beach air made people forget that sunlight could be blocked out and that morning would come anyway.
Where do you like to go to get away from it all? Tell me in the comments.
That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: The Whimsical Whale on the Corner

My story today is about the way we can put our trust in perfect strangers - like our hair stylists.
Maralyn insisted on maintaining the often-seen short spiky hairdo that older woman gravitated toward when they give up. She resisted Hannah’s efforts to soften her face with another style. Hannah regretted missing out on the chance to dye all those spikes Barbie pink.
What is it about certain strangers that makes us feel like we can trust them? Tell me in the comments.
That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: Instructions for Care

My story today revolves around something most of us thoroughly enjoy – sleep. But what if you didn't need to sleep anymore. How would you spend that extra time in your day?
Stella had started a late-night crafting group and she kept sending me pictures of hip homemade wreaths, hand-stamped stationary and throw pillows with inappropriate phrases stitched on them. Her pictures came at all hours of the night and there were clusters of them waiting for my attention in the morning.
What did you dream of last night? Tell me in the comments.
That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: At Night I Dream of Mermaids

My story today echoes in silence - from children, from heartbeats and from the things that we do not say to the people we love.
At pickup time my sister is late. Or rather she is always late for our agreed-upon pickup time, but since she is consistently late, maybe she is actually on time. She looks tired despite the day off, so we do not talk.
What are you putting off saying to the people you love?
That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: The Days Between Heartbeats

My story today is built around the idea of strangers on the bus. The shared intimacy of taking a long trip together can take its toll on people - both for the good and the bad:
A thin young man in his mid-20s flopped down next to Robyn and immediately assumed the wide-legged spread all men assume while seated. Robyn watched him under lowered lids: The wider the parting of the legs, the more space he was trying to claim for himself. Being fat and taking up more space was one thing, spreading out your knees to take over an unrealistic amount of real estate for your crotch was another. Robyn thought some guys were really only one evolutionary step above peeing on their territory.
Listen to Bus People and tell me about the worst bus trip you've ever taken.
That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: A Brilliant Shade of Blue

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