When I was a tiny kid, my parents built a simple cabin in East Texas, tucked into the woods. On many weekends, with my big brothers, we got away from the bustle of city living in Houston and camped out there, immersed in nature. We ate big family meals on the porch, swam and water... Continue Reading →
This week marks 12 years since my big brother David died. David was born 12 years before me. I'm now the same age he was when he fell 200 feet while hiking in the Colorado mountains: 47 years old, 47 years young. It's weird enough being his age. But, next year, it will be 13... Continue Reading →
In my last post, I reflected on how my deceased brother continues to inspire me to get outside and to exercise — for my health, nerves, sanity. He also inspires my outrage. His step-mother (we have different dads) rightly pointed out that during this pandemic, David — in addition to fueling and calming himself with... Continue Reading →
I often wonder how my brother David would have reacted to developments in the world had he lived. Would he have joined Facebook? Probably — he would have liked creating photo albums of his trips and carrying on conversations in threads with other athletes. I think Instagram would have delighted him, with his penchant for... Continue Reading →
[Not quite the same ring as Stevie Nicks’s “On the Edge of 17”...?] I'm in a brief liminal state between 46 and 47 years old right this minute; my birthday is tomorrow. When I was born in June of 1973, my big brother David was already 12. Numbers. Ages. They're hard facts, and should seem... Continue Reading →
Anne Pinkerton 