The Smell of Rain

Playing casual card games like Crazy Eights has a way of loosening people up, breaking down walls that conversation alone might struggle to breach. It was over cards that I really got to know my Aunt Michele. Before, I knew her as the relative who always demanded a hug, but over this game she was a storyteller, a person with depth, humor, and a way of making life feel just a little more unpredictable. My favorite story of hers was about my cousins, Mike and Matt, when they were young. One night, they were supposed to be asleep, but instead, they were playing games in their bedroom, laughing and whispering past bedtime. My aunt heard them, crept down the hallway, and threw open the door. The boys froze, wide-eyed, caught in the act—two deer in headlights, waiting for whatever punishment was coming. But instead of scolding them, she grinned and said, “Have some candy!” Then, she tossed handfuls of treats their way before walking back to bed. I loved that story. It was funny, sure, but it...

Pancakes have always been a simple yet magical meal to me, a symbol of warmth and comfort that stretches back as far as my memory goes. When I was a little kid living at my grandparents' house with my younger brother, pancakes were more than breakfast—they were an event. The anticipation would start the moment we smelled the griddle heating up, filling the kitchen with the sweet aroma of sugar and flour. My brother and I would sit at the table, perched on the edges of our chairs, practically vibrating with excitement. When our grandmother finally placed the plates in front of us, they were perfect—golden pancakes draped in syrup, with that one glossy spot of melted butter pooling in the center. That buttery spot was sacred, the best part, and I always ate it first. My brother did too, like it was an unspoken rule between us. I can still hear my grandfather chuckling from his seat behind us. "Look at that, Gerri," he said, his voice full of amusement. "The...

Written from prison during the Covid era "Is anyone there?" A young man shouted in complete darkness. Nobody responded. "I have the most amazing story," he continued. "So if anyone can hear me, just let me talk." He paused. There was a beautiful sensation coursing through every molecule of his being. It was the happiest and most confident he ever felt, despite being in complete darkness and silence. Truthfully, he did not care if anyone actually could hear him. There is power in telling a story, and this moment could not be wasted. "I will be gone soon, I can feel it," the storyteller resumed with a breath. "I don't know how, but I know as sure as I'm speaking these words that I'm on my way to something better." He took one more pause to enjoy the perfect silence. "While it's still fresh in my mind, I'll start with the first thing I remember." An overwhelming sense of confusion and shock suddenly woke me up...

I have often thought about this part in Aladdin as an allegory, especially in the troublesome years of my life. To retrieve the magic lamp, Aladdin must make his way through the Cave of Wonders. Although the cave is loaded with gold, gems, and priceless treasure, he is told to "touch nothing but the lamp." Life can be a lot like the Cave of Wonders. The ingredients to a good life are well known. Do your best, treat others justly, and stay grateful. That is the magic lamp in reality, and there's a clear path leading up to it. Also, like the cave, life has all these little temptations that take us off the simple path to goodness. Aladdin has a small monkey companion named Abu. I think of Abu as a representation of human weakness, a trait we all have. While Aladdin makes his way to the lamp as instructed, Abu is the one who succumbs to greed and grabs a giant ruby. Instantly, the entire cave begins to melt and collapse upon itself. This much of the story already tells us a l...

I wrote this passage in prison August 22, 2023 I have many great memories of shadows. As a kid I liked to watch my own shadow as the sun began to set, because it looked like the silhouette of a thin giant. Shadows could look like scary things in the dim light, then they could look like a duck or a wolf if I made the right shape with my hands. At this young age it was hard to understand that shadows are not made of anything. It seemed like they were made of shadow ink, not areas of relatively less light. As I spent warm summer days sitting in the shade of a big maple tree, the shadow felt cool, and no one could tell me that was an illusion. There are shadows in my life now, pieces that have been missing so long they leave a cold spot where they used to be. Years go by in prison and the landscape of my mind changes. Then light may come from a new source and suddenly I laugh, because after all this time I still get fooled by shadows.

In the story of Peter Pan, the villainous Captain Hook is tormented by the crocodile who ate his hand. The crocodile also swallowed a clock, so his approach is announced by an ominous ticking sound. To me, this is the perfect recipe for a bad guy's personality—a mixture of obsession and vengeance. His attempts to thwart Peter Pan are often distracted by the crocodile, which is comical. We see this evil pirate constantly defeated by his own insecurities and resentments. Peter Pan is free of any such baggage. He is eternally an innocent child, so light he can literally fly. In contrast to Captain Hook, he is at total peace. Yet on his own, Peter Pan is also incomplete. He refuses to grow up. And it could be that Captain Hook symbolizes the very person he is afraid to become. Without personal growth, none of these issues can be resolved. It is only by having faith in life that we can hear the messages we need to hear and move in the right direction. Maybe that means embracing the unkn...