The Wash 'n' Dri

See the story listed on this page in its first publication.

Stirring & Talking

"It is 1968 and I am ten. I am sitting in our kitchen on the barstool that my Oma uses. Her legs are almost fused at the hips from terrible arthritis. She can’t really sit down in a kitchen chair, so she props herself on the barstool to rest. She can stand, though and she prefers to stand at the stove cooking for her six grandchildren, her daughter, son-in-law and his father (who all live under one roof)," Read more...

The Wash 'n' Dri

"Tom Tom was another story, though. He was Sammy's nephew and I knew what he wanted most from me was 'sugar'." Read more...

Raymond and Me (fiction)

"Raymond would sing as I danced with him. Raymond's voice came straight from God. I knew that even at six. Knew it to be truer than Good Friday and miracles. He would sing really softly because Sister had struck him with a ruler once for singing. All I could think was that she was jealous..."

While Jake is Dying (essay)

"...Be amazed when your ten-year-old asks, "Is it related to his cancer?" Remember yourself at ten being only open to the mysteries of wool, linen and calico, thin, sharp silver needles and the solid construction of your mother's world..." Read more...

Sons

(see below)

Sons (essay)

"...Sons enter my heart with lentils and pea pods from their garden. The scent of soil in one dirty kiss. The slime of red efts in the webs of their fingers. Their innocence as potent as opium. I breathe it in until I almost break, then just one sniff more..." Read more...

The Lives of Cats (poem)

"...Can be peculiar as rubber, magical as flint
Can be questioned for burglaries, indicted for crimes
Reconnoiter or retreat..."

Pushing Back Time (essay)

"...I bend down and start to pull weeds. The rhythmic pulling lets me think how I'll tell me pre-teen boys about their 'surrogate grandma' Frannie and how bad her stroke has become..." Read more...

Running for My Life (essay)

"...I ran in high school because I didn't fit in. I ran at the YMCA because I wasn't supposed to..."

"...Up to post letters to all the people on our holiday card list but it's not holiday cards I'm sending. I am copying the handout on mandatory military service bills that are currently in Congress..."

"Anna Viadero's day diary submission to This Day in the Life captured the heart of the book project. An editor, a mom, an activist, she manages through the details of her day to convey a life at once 'ordinary' and yet meaningful and inspiring. Whether enclosing anti-war letters with her household bills or sitting through a Star Trek rerun just so she can spend time with her son, Anna shows readers how it is the everyday gestures that feed our souls and make a difference."

-Joni B. Cole, Editor

For info on This Day in the Life: Diaries from Women across America, visit www.thisdayinthelife.com

The Digging Hole (essay)

"At the edge of the lawn, where our mossy yard gets swallowed by forest, my boys have a digging hole..." Read more...

The Truth I Carry (essay)

"...It was a good thing I never thought too much about motherhood. How the two tiny ones that grew inside me might have to be pulled into this world through a hole in my belly (They did). How children can be such significant teachers (They are). How the predictable rhythms of our life after our first baby came might trick me into feeling like an expert (It did)..." Read more...

Explaining His Beginnings (a poem)

For my son

"I was the ocean and
you the moon
composing tides that
shook my aching shores..."

My Father (poem)

"...Hiding holes from hooks
that held our art,
our hearts,
that Father just sat back to..."

See www.localcolormemoirs.com

At the Table (essay)

"The quiet of the house settles like a shawl around our shoulders. There are pauses that are awkward, yet the softness in our faces hints at optimism..." Read more...

Alchemy (essay)

"...For the quilting project I'm doing now these strips of sunset fabric are assembled, cut at odd angles, reassembled into squares and then rounded at their edges into circles. As if without hands, a work of art appears..." Read more...

First Pearl

"Helen Harvey was my mother then, the day the great egg of a subway car I rode to my work as a nursing intern on Chicago's South Side, a desperate side. The train doors opened and I saw Helen and like a duck that imprints on a dog I followed her everywhere..." Read more...

A Legacy of Meaning: Writing with Elders

"They came in grumbling things like 'I'm only here because my son/daughter MADE me come!'.

'Write about what happened around your kitchen table when you were young,' I said.

I asked them to write for twenty minutes, but they wouldn't stop.

'Just five more minutes!' I said...Twice." Read more...