Anatolian Days & Nights: Angie Brenner Embraces the Writing Life
Angie Brenner sets a tulip-shaped glass of amber-colored Turkish tea and a plate of hazelnut baklava before a visitor and settles into a wicker chair. Beyond her dining room window, her neighbor's apple orchard is in bloom sending pale pink petals adrift in the breeze. Her affable dog, Sam, a shepherd mix whom she rescued from the San Diego streets curls up on her day bed and falls asleep.
Anatolian Days and Nights – A Love Affair with Turkey
Going to Jerusalem
“Don’t sit by the door. You could take a bullet,” my father warned me. “Go with God,” my mother said. I felt her tears on my neck, there in front of the apartment house, under the tall bare tree, its brown leaves scattered on the sidewalk by the cold December wind.
Haunted by Africa
I have no conscience memories of my birth mother, Ella. My earliest memories are those of my stepmother Anna when she and my father were missionaries in Africa.
It snowed the day we buried my mother. The weather had been spring-like all week, and the middle of February seemed more like the middle of May. Nature was confused, and green shoots from the bulbs edging my yard had already begun to emerge, crowning through the black loam.
One Life, Two Names
During a slow-warming spring in Minneapolis, my application to a creative writing program was declined. When I read the form letter, sent via a website, and addressed to me by my first name, Iyabo, I experienced a kind of dissociative moment. My mind, befuddled by the disappointing news, rejected the name, deeming it not mine.
Orchid in the Snow
When we want to believe we are loved, we will find the evidence, even in the coldest of places. The snow was mythically heavy in December 1963 on the night of the Christmas Ball. Neither my boyfriend nor I was old enough to drive and so as darkness fell, my father took the wheel of our used Chevy sedan and drove us to the Ball in a blizzard.
Returning to Me: A Cuban-American Woman’s Memoir Gives Readers An Intimate Portrait of Cuba’s Diaspora
Sweet Nothing: How I got my Head Handed to Me at Landmark
Right—where were we? Seek and ye shall find: I was at a point where I needed a change, and a change I got. Oh yes, I got my head handed to me at Landmark—the world’s biggest LGAT or Large Group Awareness Training program—and went through a gamut of emotions. First I was indifferent, then I liked it, then I detested it, then I hated it. More aptly, I loved and hated it—a familiar confluence of emotions!
Sweet Nothing: The Rocky Road to Nirvana
I have often thought of writing a novel, similar to Thomas Mann’s Confessions of Felix Krull, which would be the life story of a charlatan making out as a master guru . . . It would be a romantic and glamorous tale . . . also raise some rather unexpected philosophical questions as to the relations between genuine mysticism and stage magic.