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Andrea Miles's Blog

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Jan.24.2013
It isn’t every day you trip and fall into the arms of your destiny. At least that’s how I describer Parker to my friends. I was running late, of course, because I’m never on time, and was hurrying down the stairs of my apartment building (damn unreliable elevator) in 3-inch heels no less when I...
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Jan.17.2013
The priest slowly walked beside the guard, his well-worn Bible grasped firmly in one hand. He hated these kinds of meetings. Give him a person on their deathbed, their body wrecked with disease or age or both anytime over this. It was true he didn’t agree with the death penalty, but it was more...
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Nov.16.2012
Hey, Big Brother, It has been awhile since I’ve written I know. I’ve been busy I guess. You’ll be happy to hear I’m making great progress here though. My therapist (we call him Dr. Q, isn’t that cool?) said I was doing good. But I’ve been thinking about you, you and mom. How is she, by the way?...
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Sep.14.2012
“It’s getting cold out,” she said, pulling her robe tighter around her body and wishing she knew what he was thinking about. He’d barely talked during dinner and afterwards, he had disappeared outside before she’d even cleared the table. He remained silent, a solid mass in a worn flannel shirt and...
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Jul.12.2012
She sits at the kitchen table, a cup of cold coffee in front of her. This can’t be happening to her, to her perfect little family. She draws in a shaky breath and then releases it. She’d spent all her tears last night, leaving nothing for today. But how had this happened? The Day had started out...
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Jul.03.2012
My mother sits at the kitchen table, her purple bathrobe loose around her thin body. She covers her face with her hands. I drop to my knees beside her chair and look up at her. I am like a baby bird, waiting to be fed my mother’s wisdom and understanding and love. She drops her hands to settle in...
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Jul.03.2012
She sat in the dark, rocking the fussy child. She was so tired she didn’t remember climbing the stairs to answer the crying toddler’s wordless call for comfort. It had been a hard pregnancy, a hard birth, a hard year of transitioning from three children to four. And this child was proving to be...
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Jun.27.2012
“It was a nice service,” Peter said, pulling away from the curb. He glanced into the back seat at me, but his comment was meant for his mother sitting in the passenger seat. “Except for that bum cozying up to Martha.” Louise frowned. “Here she is, burying her husband and she has to deal with...
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Jun.27.2012
I slip into the stairwell of the derelict hotel and begin to climb the five flights of stairs. My footsteps are steady, but my mind weaves erratically. I don’t want to think, but my mind won’t behave. At the first landing, I pause and breathe. I do not want to stop again. When I reach the second...
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Jun.25.2012
I know I’ve mentioned my love of chalkboards, but I also have a bit of love for maps. I love the look of maps, the soft colors of blue and green and yellow, but also the black and white antique maps and the bold colors often used on the USA map. And not just maps, but globes, too. I would...
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Jun.22.2012
National Geographic recently broadcast a documentary, “Russia’s Toughest Prisons,” featuring three prisons: Prison Camp 17 in Siberia where the temps reach 50 below and it takes three days for visitors to reach the camp; Vladimir Central, where Stalin’s son was imprisoned; and the prison I found...
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Jun.20.2012
Have you read Gary Shteyngart’s novel Super Sad True Love Story? It is a good book, certainly very smart, but I was mad reading it. Really. So mad, in fact, I contemplated not finishing it. But because I have a thing where I like to finish a book no matter what and yes, I know life’s too short and...
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Jun.17.2012
I hadn’t realized until this weekend how I feel about moving trucks. Our next-door neighbors sold their house and the new neighbors are moving in. So for two days moving trucks have been parked on our street and men have been loading boxes onto hand carts and pushing them down the truck ramp, along...
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Jun.17.2012
Everyone who knows anything about me is aware of my love of books. In fact, I’m a little fanatical about it. I’ve mentioned how going to the library as a kid brought me such joy, the slickness of the plastic covering as I ran my hands over the title of the books I’d chosen, the sound of the...
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Jun.14.2012
I have always loved chalkboards. I love the feel of the chalk in my hand, the sound of chalk tapping against the chalkboard as letters, words, sentences appear on the black surface. I love the ease with which an eraser can wipe a chalkboard clean. Continue Reading...
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