Archives about Anne Rasmussen
While Charlie, Candice, and Louis were fastening seat belts and returning chair trays to the upright and locked position, it dawned on Daron that though he’d asked his mom to move The Charlies, he’d neglected to mention the mammies from New Orleans, Salt and Pepper Climb on Cucumber, as well as the Bibinba, Zwarte Pieten,
I drove my car straight to the front steps, parked right in the emergency zone, figuring no one would mind at 3:00 a.m.: I had no idea what I was doing or where I was. A feeling of utter helplessness radiated down my limbs, and I’m sure, settled quite telegraphically on my features. I parked
My theory about octagons is this: There is really only one octagon, and that one flickers in and out of existence over space and time, such that the very same octagon is summoned to consciousness over and over again. The fighters all know they have something to summon; why else the little bow at the
I read somewhere that Westerners typically cast themselves as the protagonists of their own memoirs, while Asians are usually bit players in theirs, one mere star in a great constellation. I had gone abroad intending to have swashbuckling foreign adventures and to get as far away as possible from turgid family psychodramas with Confucian overtones.
Russell’s Knob, the village he brought her to, was secreted. It was a hide, a hush-up, a keep-quiet-about spot, a conceal-and-bottle-up sanctuary, a curtain, a disguise, a dissemble place. The homesteads that formed it were laid so that they were encountered singly—knots along a string. If one homestead was set upon, folk could fall back
“I speak to you from heaven because I’m dead. Gored by an enormous billy goat (number three to be exact) and tossed in the stream. Why did I wait for him? Why didn’t I gobble up the first Gruff and call it a day? It was the way he lowered his eyes. I thought I