Winter Recipe: Coffee Squash

Winter Recipe: Coffee Squash

Coffee squash? Squash coffee? No matter how you mash it, the combo sounds a little weird. Stick with me on this one, friends, we’ve got places to go and butternut squash to eat this winter. Here’s the deal: I love this recipe because it’s 1. Easy to make. 2. An

Whale-Talk

Whale-Talk

By Melissa Kandel Yosemite My name is Yosemite. I’m five feet, six inches tall with a reddish tint to my hair, a long beard that I never comb and green-blue eyes that are noticeably two different sizes. I only shower on Thursdays, smoke at least five cigarettes a day and

Annalee

Annalee

Annalee was her name. I say was because she’s no longer with us but you should know she was my Aunt Annalee and she was forever saying strange things to me like, “You’ll never understand what’s sitting inside or outside the ocean, so the best you can do is try.”

Christmas Eve In Newport Beach

Christmas Eve In Newport Beach

I know tonight is all about eggnog and family and playing ’90s board games and walking in snow reflected by the dancing colors of twinkly lights, so instead of a long story to read I leave you with this one photo I took at The Wedge earlier today. It reminds

Dear December

Dear December

By Melissa Marni “Uh oh.” “What?” “Nothing.” “Then why’d you say ‘uh oh.’” “No reason.” “No reason? You said ‘uh oh’ just because?” “Exactly. It’s a fun thing to say.” “It’s not.” “It is. Lighten up!” “Not cool, Josephine. You know I’m sensitive about being so damn yellow.”

THE SECRET DOOR

THE SECRET DOOR

The secret door. Over the mountain, across the wood, behind the waterfall. They had found it. Finally. Now they just needed to open it. But how?  And why? Because some cross-eyed, old man told them they must. Because something in his appearance – skin like crinkled parchment paper wrapped against

A WINTER MISTAKE

A WINTER MISTAKE

Here is the first thing Minerva Griffin thought when she stepped on the train at Koblenz Central Railway Station: This is a mistake. Here’s why: Insider her cream-leather satchel – unlocked and locked six times this morning to be sure – was a velvet pouch filled with enough diamonds to

LIGHT ON ICE

LIGHT ON ICE

They were broken before they began, two snowflakes pirouetting toward the ground, toward the lights of a city made just for them. Everything was ordinary when the morning in question appeared, new and bright with a faint layer of fallen snow. December days were sometimes like that though, routine at

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