We do our best, but every once in a while we have something slip through the net, and we’re sorry to say this happened for our December issue. You’ll be hearing from Vashon Bikes in our next issue, but in the meantime please be sure to drop by and thank them for being an island…
“Heard,” “Behind,” “Thank You, Chef”
By Deborah H. Anderson The television show “Chopped” is my go-to for all seasons. If you haven’t seen it, the premise is simple, and the action is intense. “Chopped” is a game show where four chefs from various demographics and styles of cooking in the restaurant industry have to prepare an appetizer, entree, and dessert…
The Power of the Pen
By Deborah H. Anderson The original draft of this was written in hunter green. I used to write words that came from my interior place, personal experience words, in mahogany. It’s a shade that looks deep red, like blood poured on the page. Life has gotten a little lighter, and those feeling words are like…
Four Twelves to New Life
By Deborah H. Anderson Four times in my life I have been been given a particular hiatus, for 12 weeks. It’s an interesting fact, maybe more so a phenomenon. The first time was 12 weeks in the hospital in my hometown when I was nine years old, after being in a car that was hit…
Legs, Part 2 – A Community of Hope
By Deborah H. Anderson This time of year, when the temperature dips below 40 degrees, I think about my blue flannel cow jammies. Along with my blue socks and a black fake sheep’s wool blanket I bought at Thriftway, they kept me warm when it got really cold during the year that I slept in…
The Truth About Legs
By Deborah H. Anderson “Do you see where the break is?” … The surgeon asks. Pointing to the x-ray, I look at the diagonal line of a femur once shattered in two places, now fused into solid bone. “Yes”, I tell him, nodding my head. “Now look at the other leg,” he continues, “See how…
Aging in Place
By Deborah H. Anderson There is a Halley’s Comet watch party at Gaswork’s Park on my 110th birthday. I have let the appropriate people know they can roll me up to the top pf the hill in my wheelchair and then put me in the pine box and six feet under the next day. Now, hearing…
The Whimsy of Wisdom and Loop de Loop
In junior high, 7th grade to be exact, I decided that Diane Fargo had the most beautiful cursive handwriting. Hers, with the perfect “F’s,” the top line swooping over the graceful, descending vertical, providing the exact structure for the carefully curved middle horizontal line. So beautiful. Deep sigh. Yes, hers was the cursive styling I…
Ode to Sheba the Brave
Sheba the Brave captured my heart the first time I met her. A brown tabby who looked more ocelot than cat, we greeted each other, she on her stool and me on my chair, knees to front paws. Suddenly, she stood and crawled into my lap. Her foster mom exclaimed, “I’ve never seen her do…
The Strength of Pretend
By Deborah H. Anderson Finding the perfect cinnamon roll at the Edmonds Bakery was a moment of bliss. Huge, spirally, gently baked, lightly glazed, with hidden chunks of nut pieces in the inner fold’s perfection brought unparalleled mouth happiness. Saturday afternoon delight, for sure. Smithsonian Free Museum Day drew me to Edmonds. The drive to…