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Meeting the Dinosaurs

“Will they have things on them mouths so they won’t bite us when we see them?” Thea asked me as we stepped from the vapid July heat into the air-conditioned building. In front us a great wall stood fifty feet high, real dinosaur bones scattered in disorganized piles stuck in the rock from 150 million years ago—Dinosaur National Monument. Thea’s question stopped me as I stood between her delicate peach body and the fossilized bones. I was no one with an answer. In part I was heart-broken at her question as I rewound my memory of her in my head: Squealing in her car seat with her cheeto fingers when she woke from her sweaty nap and we told her...

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A Season of Undoing

My childhood has come back to haunt me in the form of a small daughter who wore a rainbow swimsuit with the face of a tiger on front to school today because she refuses to put on clothes. I did the same thing to my mom 28 years ago and so in every photo when I am four and five, I am wearing a worn, pastel swimsuit with an ice cream cone sewn to the front.   Thea has me at a loss for answers. I think my mom must have been lost too. She tells the story of the time I refused to wear clothes in a snowstorm and so she let me go out on the front porch...

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