Magazines & Journals
New York Times
LA Review of Books
Travel & Leisure
San Francisco Magazine
The Gettysburg Review
San Francisco State University Magazine
The Best Women’s Travel Writing: Volume 11
You Are Not Here and Other Works of Buddhist Fiction
The Risks of Sunbathing Topless: And Other Funny Stories from the Road
Flash Fiction Forward: 80 Very Short Stories
California Travel & Tourism
Monterey Convention & Visitor’s Bureau
Sunset Custom Publications
Stories & Blogs
It happened again. I got fat. Including the time I was pregnant with twins and tipped the scales at 205 pounds, this is my — oh gosh — sixth or seventh time achieving extreme chub.
But just so we’re clear, in between my fat years, I am not exactly what you’d call statuesque. My Scandinavian genes are not pooled from the supermodels and tennis stars. We’re more like the people you call when you need potatoes pulled from the frozen soil. We’re a sturdy clan. When I am at my thinnest and fittest, I am a size 8. And I still feel pretty foxy at a comfortable size 10.
When I decided to take a volunteer vacation, I thought it would be the best of both worlds: the satisfaction that comes from giving selflessly, coupled with the opportunity to spend a week on one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline in the world. But here I am in California’s Big Sur, land of cliffs and sea and naked hippies, having just spent six hours clearing a hillside trail in Limekiln State Park, and something is not quite right.
Last night was back-to-school night. I am one of those weird parents who actually likes back-to-school night. I like meeting the teachers and poking around in my children’s lives without them looking over my shoulder. It gives me a peek into them that I don’t get at home, a little look at how they are in the outside world.
Yesterday also had the surprising benefit of making me appreciate them a little more.