Category Archives: Rockaway Days

The Things That Will Fit into a House

Thirteen years after my mother left, she moved back in. Her return didn’t signal reconciliation between her and my father, albeit they were on better terms than when they had separated. She moved back into the house to be useful. … Continue reading

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The Putting On of Water

My father owned a paint and hardware store. More than a vendor, he was someone who worked with his hands, hands unsteadied by coffee, hands with long, dirty fingernails. He fixed broken things, patched them back together to make them … Continue reading

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Roller Coasters

In the first few weeks after I moved halfway across the country I dreamt of family—husband and child, parents and siblings, in-laws—on various beaches facing towering waves. I have dreamt of families and homes on sand for years. When I … Continue reading

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Riding Rockaway

My 10-speed Raleigh–Carleton Supercourse was olive green with purple handlebar tape. I bought it the spring I was 15, in preparation for a three-week cycling trip in Maine. Oh, I was so cool riding my sleek bike, speeding along city … Continue reading

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