Essays
Stones of remembrance
The side table drawer in my grandparent’s Arizona living room was always full of playing cards. There was the deck with Van Gogh’s self-portrait,...
The hidden path
I called a good friend heartless this year. Who have I become?
I’ve always prided myself on being a rational, reasonable person. I don’t offend...
The quick and the dead
I was 16 years old when
my father asked me if I wanted to be a hero.
The year was 1999, ’round
about late April, and Dad...
A masochist’s love letter
I love telling the story of my wisdom teeth. Anytime someone mentions a tooth extraction or dentistry mishap, I weasel my experience into the ring...
Truth follows
A woman wept at the corner of Table Mesa and Harvard Lane, and all I could do was put my hand on her shoulder.
I...
7th annual essay issue
Every year around this time, Boulder Weekly publishes a collection of essays written by the people — editors, publishers, contributors — who put out...
A long ugly story
Sometime in the fall of 1979 I got a phone call from a friend of my older brother. He wanted to know if I...
That ain’t gospel
Many moons ago, I had a mentor who liked to tell a story about an intern they’d once worked with. So talented was this...
