Tag Archives: Featured

Welcome to Camp Strange!

Thank you for vis­it­ing Camp Strange, my lit­tle cor­ner of the online world. This site con­tains a col­lec­tion of some of the sto­ries I have writ­ten over the past 6 years since I first began blog­ging at the now-defunct Beauty Dish, as well as new sto­ries. You can read some of my fun­ni­est Avon Lady

The Saddest Song in the World

I met Cat Woman through a mys­te­ri­ous man dur­ing one of my kamikaze door-to-door Avon mis­sions. He stood on the cor­ner of the two most expen­sive streets in town, a tas­seled leather woman’s bag slung over his right shoul­der. He wore slim pin-striped denim slacks and over-pursed lips as if he were kiss­ing an old

Don Juan Miguel

Every cou­ple of weeks or so I buy two choco­late crois­sants and two Mex­i­can mochas with extra whipped cream at the French bak­ery and carry them across the park­ing lot to the 76 gas sta­tion garage. I give a pas­try and cof­fee to the mechanic, Miguel, and we sit on oil-stained metal fold­ing chairs and

Vegetable Dreams

Lit­tle 7 walked into my bed­room this morn­ing, rub­bing his right eye. I scru­ti­nized his swollen lid, decided it might be a bug bite, and groaned out of bed and into the kitchen to get a cucum­ber. Every­one knows that cukes reduce puffi­ness and pull tox­ins out of your eyes. I’ve seen count­less mag­a­zine ads

A Mom Called Paladin

A man walked across a desert wash. His black boots hit dry ground. His hand didn’t hover near his hol­ster. He let it match his stride, let it swing in a care­free arc that spoke of con­tent­ment, of a man fully present in his body. The sage­brush rus­tled, almost bowed in plea­sure as he passed.

La Salsa

My town held a Latin Dance Fiesta last week­end. The gro­cery store clerk stuffed the flier in my paper bag between a dozen free-range eggs and a pack­age of dried pinto beans. Her braided sil­ver bracelet caught the jagged edge of the bag and left a small tear. “You gotta go. My boyfriend plays gui­tar with

Corn on the Cam

Ever since my two young boys dis­cov­ered worm­holes and shape-shifting aliens, I promised we would visit the Star Trek Expe­ri­ence in American’s city of sin. I put the trip off for months, then a year. Las Vegas ain’t cheap, and the Hilton charges a cool forty dol­lars a warm body to hurl through space and

Marty Cherryseed

My youngest son crawls beneath my gramma’s quilt these moun­tain sum­mer morn­ings. I brace myself to brave the scuffed pine floor in my bare feet as he flops on his stom­ach and places vin­tage comics on my extra pil­low. I leave him to my warm bed, leave him to care­fully turn frag­ile pages, to become

State of Confusion

When movie cam­eras focus on the dusty Mex­i­can bor­der replica span­ning the Uni­ver­sity Avenue bridge, they will cap­ture the dark hours before sun­rise. A man bleed­ing from a bul­let wound will carry a bat­tered valise filled with two mil­lion dol­lars cash, money found in a West Texas field lit­tered with a dozen dead vic­tims of

All We Want

My youngest son, Mar­tin, turns 10 in a few days. He woke me an hour ago. “I can’t sleep.” He tossed his art sup­plies on the bed and crawled in after them. Graphite pen­cils, rub­ber eraser, ruler, a pad of heavy paper. I flicked the lamp switch, let the soft light com­pete with the moon’s full glow.