Somewhere in my archives there is a promo pic for a stripper who called herself Champaine Biege, signed "Love, Champaine." It is a beautiful picture, and she is a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, this picture is not worth a thousand words.

I met Champaine when "Grampa" got out of prison. I don't even know Grampa's story - or if I ever did, I've forgotten it now. There was a "Grandma" - an older woman who hung out at the local biker bar, and when Grampa got out of prison, there was a huge party. Grandma was right there at the center of it, the good 'ol lady standing by her ol' man. Read more about Champaine Beige

Last Monday was 1978. Moving ahead a couple of years, I believe I am in Seattle for the first time, receiving a card from my friend Vicki - a beautiful card, dated 2.26.80 - with a wonderful picture of a woman in a clown suite, wearing a green hat, and a face composed of the night sky, also reflected around her, but with a rainbow in the center. She holds a mask of a beautiful woman's face. The card reads, "If you're afraid of the dark...remember the night rainbow." Read more about For Vicki, Wherever You Are

The year is 1978. I'm still married. To my second husband. But not for long. My daughter is 2. My son is 11. I am the central figure in a very large painting by Charles Munch entitled 6 Women. Read more about Together Forever

Another Monday, another old letter. Readers of will recognize bits and pieces of this: Read more about More Material

This from the archives. And now that I read it over, I'm thinking that the quote below could only have been written by HST. So why did some guy named Ed Meece write it down on a scrap of paper, and why do I still have it 30 years on?

"I have no idea who wrote the following. 'Twasn't me. Could be a fella name of Ed Meece, whose name sounds vaguely familar and which actually appears at the bottom of the second little tiny sheet of note paper on which was written the following: Read more about Mystery Quotes

You may recall from a previous confession that sometime in the 1980's, convinced that the man I thought I loved could never really love me, I ran off with a No Good Boyfriend with a local motorcycle club which shall remain nameless here.

A club composed of a bunch of bikers can make strange (I want to say bedfellows here, but that could give a wilder impression than was actually the fact - only one of the "club" guys was actually a bedfellow). Read more about Little Pink Houses

Back when I was submitting chapters of to my writer's group, one set of criticisms from my fellow women writers set me back on my heels a bit.

Not only was my heroine not very kick-ass, an issue I addressed in another post. Even worse, she was too caring, too solicitous of others, too accepting of a traditional woman's role. She cooked too much. Read more about More Than

Labour Day Morning 2012 and I don't have time for something fresh so I'm reaching back once again to Labour Day 2004 when I was writing about November of 1962. Who says we don't have time machines? Read more about More Misty History

Earlier this year, in a piece I called Diversity on Ice, I waxed semi-eloquently on my wish to more fully understand the "other side." To talk with, listen to, and perhaps learn something valuable from Them.

I still think it's possible, but efforts in that direction have not been promising. Read more about Talking to Them

I swear, by my life and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.

No, that's not another line from a Who song. That is the quintessential core of the philosophy of Ayn Rand, a devotee of whose is now hoping to be a breath away from the presidency. It's a philosophy that once held great appeal for me. When I was 16 or so. It stands at the core of what Rand called "the virtue of selfishness." Read more about Teenage Wasteland