words & art by shé

bookshelf

listening to love

  • Benevolence

    Three years in México and the language still gets away from me. To be fair, I’ve had huge misunderstandings with people in English; Spanish simply adds spice. Yesterday, slogging back from provisioning, towing the wagon, the gatekeeper at the athletic field asked, “¿Se vende?” The fatigued interpreter in my brain translated this to “What did…

  • Distance

    I waited for the graceful pod of dolphins to pass, and a barking sea lion, then pushed off a barnacled rock into the Sea of Cortez. I swam farther out than usual, instead of along shore. I want to become more comfortable in deeper water, so I am slowly adding distance. On the bluff above…

  • Intruders

    Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, someone crawled under Habibi’s hull, moved a coconut oil container from on top of a wooden box, then took the wooden box. This was a box—one of two—I had found nearby, after a set of rude humans shipped out and left their mess behind. I was using it…

  • Coyote

    I met a coyote this morning while walking cerro de ballenas (Whale Hill). Blonde, slim, curious. After watching awhile and rotating her big ears, she trotted off toward the ocean. A few weeks ago I saw another one, larger, on the beach below, loping along at low tide. Several years ago in Northern California, I…

  • Friends

    “You needed a friend,” said Eric, decades after we broke up. Over dinner, I had wondered aloud how we had connected, besides proximity. An artist, he also worked at Tigerfly, the small animation studio I managed in Santa Monica in the late 80s. Housed in the Crocker Bank building, we spent breaks on the roof,…

  • Compañera

    Tired from a late night, I eased into the ocean and stroked away from shore after dawn. Several meters out, my eyes snagged on a large fish, same length as me, swimming in the same direction, though below and to the right. Long body, long nose, silvery gray in the gloom. My brain then registered…

  • Diary of a Reluctant Traveler

    The memoir is out! Winner of the Rainbow Quill for Best Travel Writing, and the Minerva Prize—nab your copy now! What folks are saying: Shé is wow-pow: world of wonder, piece of wonder. She reminds us how to live.—Dominick Brah, Oregon Coast Trail cyclist Learning to surf at 54? Traveling across the continent solo? Yes! Inspiring…

  • Bi

    Bisexual is not a synonym for promiscuous. I recently read two casual slurs against bisexuals, by folks who should know better. Let me clear this up right now: bisexual is a word that simply means gender is irrelevant, attraction-wise. It does not mean a smorgasbord of sexual activity. It means that a specific person appeals…

  • Revolve/Evolve

    Some birthdays are painful, others are not. This year’s was okay, though I truncated my morning swim after counting 10 egg-yolk jellyfish in the water with me. Enough. I no longer celebrate the way my mother did—no parties, no restaurants, no strippers. Instead, I took a break from working on the latest book, and read…

  • Patin

    “Neat!” said a walker from the path around the athletic fields. Baseball, racquetball, soccer, and in the middle, a skatepark. I had it to myself that day, looping around the smooth concrete, dodging bars and blocks. “Thanks!” I smiled. The Ripstik is a goodwill ambassador. Last week I met Alison, about six or so with…