By Suzanna Leigh It was my mother Marj’s 102nd Birthday celebration, and the family were gathered around. The traditional feast was consumed, the dishes washed, and the gluten-free pineapple upside-down cake served and eaten. It was time for presents. Mom carefully, with some help, unwrapped an oddly shaped gift from daughter Jeannie – and her…
By Suzanna Leigh My name is Puff. Well it used to be. That’s what Jackie Paper called me. Such fine times we had! Sailing the high seas, getting homage from pirates and princes. Sometimes I took him flying high over the land and we looked down at the little towns and villages below. It was…
By Suzanna Leigh The end of my sojourn with the Pilgrims Christian Commune in Hawaii came when a man from the home church on the mainland came to speak to us. Along with some possibly prejudiced prophecies about the coming end of the world, he told us that Ken, the head of Pilgrims, was an…
By Suzanna Leigh Fishing at High Tide. Illustration by Suzanna Leigh
By Suzanna Leigh If you asked me now if I love Jesus, I would probably say something like “Yes! and also Yeshua, and Isa and Buddha, and Quan Yin, and every other Spiritual representation of all-encompassing love.” Years ago, when I was a hippie in Hawaii living in a Christian commune, it was Jesus, Jesus,…
By Suzanna Leigh Beside me, Steve holds his cat Bunny gently, wrapped in a blue bathroom towel. We are driving to the Fair Isle Animal Clinic. The glow of love emanating from the two of them fills the car. This may be Bunny’s last day. When Steve called me first thing this morning, he was…
By Suzanna Leigh James and I were still living with the evangelical Jesus-loving Pilgrims in a mansion on Hilo Bay when it happened. One day while James was in school, I hitchhiked into Hilo to buy some watercolor paints and a roll of rice paper. Karl and his partner, who had so generously put us…
By Suzanna Leigh James and I landed in Honolulu in late February of 1974. No one to meet me, of course. Culture shock; people in shorts, brightly colored shirts, long muumuus, fragrant plumeria leis around their necks. The very air smelled different. I knew no one. I sat on the edge of a fountain with…
Part of a memoir By Suzanna Leigh Illustration by Suzanna Leigh It all came crashing down in early February. There was magic, living in the chicken coop on Maury Island. There were still a few cabbages in the big garden in December, when five year-old James and I moved in with Davey, Phil, and Phil’s…
By Suzanna Leigh Marj Watkins – Illustration by Suzanna Leigh I dreamed about my mother early this morning. She is 101 now, and I see her about every other day. I watch her slow decline and wonder how long she will continue to enjoy life. Sometimes I dream that she is walking easily again, the…