The following slideshow incorporates black and white photography, poetry, and a classic song by Marlene Dietrich. I compiled the majority of the work during my recent stay in Berlin. En-route to Israel, via Scotland and Ireland, Germany was the last stop on my improvised book tour. We arrived in Berlin at a seemingly dark hour. Obama was in town, the NSA scandal had just leaked, the Syrian war raged on, and there was a full moon. I sought to capture moods.

-Jeffrey F. Barken

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San Francisco-based artist Yutaka Houlette has collaborated with writer, Sarah Loden, producing a brilliant a collection of narrated illustrations. Yutaka’s “Homeless” series evolves a richly textured urban environment occupied by three homeless individuals. He used watercolor, ink, color-pencil and wintergreen oil transfer to complete the drawings. 

Sarah, who currently lives in Perth Australia, eagerly embraced the themes of humility and the subtle humor that shines in the faces and gestures of Yutaka’s characters. Her storyboards also toy with the newsprint backgrounds. Yutaka and Sarah communicated via gmail to plan their collaboration.   

“Waltz”, Yutaka Houlette,
watercolor, ink, color-pencil and wintergreen oil transfer.

BUILDING AS DANCE PARTNER

“What brings you here tonight? May I have this dance?” No one asks so formally anymore. Maybe it’s something to do with this song. The AM radio tuned to a solo-spotlight-style crooner singing a standard; and well, it’s delightful to have a partner.

In these cities, cars whiz by — car after car after car, and you’d think they’re all the same and there’s no special thing about having a car; or that they would even exist at all. There’s so many! And they’re filled with people!

People you don’t notice though they’re on their way home, or headed to the park with their kids, or have a lunch date to attend. Did you notice the building?

It’s 15 stories tall—glass, concrete, steel beams—and people made this thing! They built this structure based on a plan proposed by an engineering-architectural firm hired by a developer investing in the prime realty spot downtown with the hopes large companies with high-end clients would cover the rent.

I, just, well, “Thank you for this dance.“

“Bench”, Yutaka Houlette,
watercolor, ink, color-pencil and wintergreen oil transfer.

BUILDING AS BENCH

I notice there’s a varying gradient of gray-green-black rendered to the asphalt from wear and sun. There’s mingled in the cracks of pavement: rust colored pine needles, broken bits of brown-turned leaves, a fluff of white–perhaps from a bush or flower?

Five dollars to be a served a cappuccino crafted with a leaf design by the milk pour.

60% of the men. No. 80% of the men in this cafe wear button down suit shirts. Button down suit shirts and I have holes in the armpits of my cotton blend long sleeve tee. It’s covered by my coat actually. I’m doing my best to blend in. I’m cowering over my worn belongings, scanning the people who occupy this dim lit, tile floor, exposed warehouse ceiling café in the bottom of this downtown building.

What a paved walkway says: “Here’s where you trod. Not on the fresh green lawn that’s watered and cared for only to look comfortable and welcoming.” The bench says: “Sit here. Not there. And definitely not on that building ledge where there’s a rail of spiky ‘ornamental’ spires attached.” Quality of living, they say.

“Thank You”, Yutaka Houlette,
watercolor, ink, color-pencil and wintergreen oil transfer.

BUILDING AS TRASH CAN

Newspapers are dying. That’s how this café is here. It occupies the building once used by the city newspaper. The name of it is Small Print.

It’s funny when I think about what I do in a city: I am a receptacle to collect the bits of unused, unwanted items of people. Discarded paper cups not fully empty, fold-at-the-seam takeaway boxes, mass printed campaign fliers to stop oppressive work conditions in whatever/every/our foreign country. I notice how unvalued an object’s utility is until you would need it and are without…

“Sorry, news, we just don’t want all the paper going to waste when we’re really not spending the time to read you anymore. It’s us, not you, really.”

It rained mid-afternoon. Water collected in my bin and turned the paper to mush and the liquids to brine. “Fresh made soup!” I could sell.

It’s just…the headlines are enough. So goes the newspaper to our phones, so goes the story behind people on the street.

Corner of Guilford and 29th St.

-Tuesday, August 6th, 10 am-

On such a day as today

everything is just as it is.

Hello, you, drinking beer on your stoop;

and you, bumping songs of teenage lust

from your double-parked Buick; you, walking

three dogs; you, dogs; you, dead dragonfly

belly-up on the sidewalk;

you, sun that bakes the dragonfly

and turns my face the color

of the fish-killing algae in the harbor;

you, hot wind full of the smell of dead fish;

and you—yes, you—

listen: I know you: I am you. Help me

summon the ghost of Walt Whitman!

Let us raise Walt’s effigy

above the Washington Monument,

let us rest together in the shade of his hat!

Let his prodigious beard be Baltimore,

and each one of us

as unique and interchangeable

as hairs in that beard.

Poem by Matthew Falk

Cover image courtesy of Timmy Reed
http://underratedanimals.wordpress.com

Tell God I Don’t Exist

A book Review by Rachel Wooley

Full disclosure: I know Timmy Reed. We started University of Baltimore’s MFA program the same year, though he finished this year. “Tell God I Don’t Exist” is his thesis collection, which he wrote, designed, and laid out entirely himself before releasing it to the general public in May of 2013. In a lot of ways, the cover is the perfect representation of what’s inside: brief, colorful, imaginative stories together in a sort of abstract dream world; each story is separate and distinct but could take place in the same universe, which is just a little off-kilter.

The longest story is just over 10 pages; the shortest, a paragraph. Each features a narrator who seems to be struggling with his (or sometimes perhaps her – it’s not always made explicit) sense of displacement in his particular universe. Even in their disenchantment, these characters find something to marvel at or feel some sense of wonder toward – a wonder that is almost child-like in many of the pieces (and indeed, some of the narrators are children), though sometimes this wonder wanders into the realm of fear or discomfort.  Oftentimes, the catalyst is an animal: moles, bees, tigers, tortoises, squirrels, dogs, birds, and even the lesser-known tardigrade, or water bear (a micro-animal so called because of its interesting resemblance, despite its eight legs, to a grizzly bear) all make appearances in these stories. “Sometimes when I felt lonely or disconnected, I needed to think about animals,” says the narrator in the story Hunting Water Bears. “I felt like they knew something I didn’t and if I thought about them I could learn a piece of it.” Many of the collection’s other characters seem to feel this sentiment, at least on some level. And sometimes, the more fantastical appears: giants, or an ill mermaid, or a “tiny man like an elf” who gives the narrator in Ruins a brilliant piece of advice that the world, he decides, isn’t ready for.

The prose itself is refreshingly unique. The sentences layer themselves into often-unexpected situations, expressing themselves with a clarity that never makes you feel lost, despite the rabbit holes (or perhaps mole tunnels) that they often lead you through. The experiences in each feel tangible, despite the dream-like way in which they often unfold. I hesitate to say that any of the stories cross completely into absurdity, but they sometimes nudge against it.

More serious themes weave their way through the book as well: Reed’s narrators struggle with destruction, impermanence, loss, and transition. Sometimes these themes are presented in an obvious,  exaggerated way: in “Water into Dust,” the narrator has a P.O. named Mrs. HURTTT who “is eleven feet tall, a status I would classify as no less than Giant… She lives in a cave behind the county jail.” (Maybe I was wrong about the absurdity bit). In others, it’s much more subtle, the after-image you’re left with when the story is over and the animals have gone on their way.

Overall, it’s a great reminder that there’s more than us humans living on this planet, and that even we’re not permanent. The book is in no way didactic about this; in fact, the narrators’ various interactions and experiences might make you want to go out and cultivate your own mole community – just don’t do it in a friend’s back yard.

Both Timmy Reed and Rachel Wooley are regular contributors to Monologging.org. To read more about Tell God I Don’t Exist and to purchase a copy, visit Timmy’s website: UnderratedAnimals.

Shannon O’Donnell

Travel writer and overseas volunteer, Shannan O’Donnell, recently returned to her childhood home in Florida for a brief respite. During her stay, I caught up with her over Gmail. The following interview explores Shannon’s unique experiences abroad, her relationship to her website, A Little Adrift, and her personal reactions to scenes and cultures she has witnessed abroad.

-Jeffrey F. Barken

Jeff: How has being an actress influenced your travels/ your instinct to travel?

Shannon: I am a bit of an introvert in many social situations, but my improvisation training over the years has given me the ability to often overcome my tendency to prefer small gatherings and I can interact and enjoy larger groups for a time. It also gave me a passion for finding local arts and chances to experience traditional art and dance; once I left I found that watching cultural performances often filled the gap in my life that was left when I abruptly left the acting industry.

Jeff: What was your first destination? And why did you choose to go there?

Shannon: My first stop was in Australia, and since I was living in Los Angeles at the time it seemed like a great starting point

Blue Mountains, Australia

for my round the world trip — I took a one-way flight to Sydney and then worked my way back west toward home (the US) over the course of a year.

Jeff: Did you always plan to keep a blog?

Shannon: From the moment I started researching my trip I saw how few long-term planning resources were out there (back in 2008) and yes, I planned on recording my journey and everything I learned along the way so others would have some online resources to look to in their own planning. That being said, I really wasn’t sure more than my parents would read the blog and it’s been a wonderful surprise over the years to see that others did, in fact, need and appreciate the resources and have set out on their own amazing journeys as well. Blogging allowed me to join a community of other writers and travelers in a way that was unheard of five years ago, but now I have friends in each new place because of the community that has grown out of my blog.

Jeff: Did you find it took a long time to grow into your character as a traveler, or did you know instinctively who you wanted to be and or become while on the road?

Shannon: The first year on the road as a solo traveler was my boot camp for life. It was about me learning how to shed some of the baggage I carried around with me as a person and learn how to travel from a place of gratitude and curiosity. LA often breeds narcicism in people (it did in me), and I worked on shedding that in the first months, and through volunteering and service as I travel I have cultivated a life I feel has value for others outside of myself.

Jeff: Have you tried out different personalities in different countries? And or ever made up a story about your past to create a role for yourself?

Buddha Image From Angkor Wat, Cambodia

Shannon: I never consciously chose to try on a different personality, but I do know I occasionally allowed myself to mold into some of the travelers I met — just to see if their mode of travel suited me better. By doing so, I found a style that feels like me. I joined up with a hitch-hiking backpacker in Ireland and camped on the windy shores of the Atlantic Ocean in Ireland; in Laos I partied with travelers on the Nam Song, and in Thailand viewed the country through its food history. Each gave a unique lens on travel, and helped me cultivate a style that pushes at my curiosity and comfort level just enough to keep things interesting.

Jeff: What countries did you fall in love with and why?

Shannon: Each place offers something different so it’s hard to answer this. I loved India for the food — an entire country’s cuisine built to cater to vegetariasm was a wonderful and tasty experience. I love the accessibilty of Thai culture when you travel in Thailand and the warmth of the Guatemalans in the months I spent there.

Jeff: Were there any countries you visited that you didn’t like? If so, why? (Please elaborate on what made you feel uncomfortable).

Shannon: The places that I didn’t love are were usually for very personal reasons and for that reason I always hesitate to mention them — some people have told me I am crazy for not loving my time in Cuba. For me, it just didn’t stand up to my expectations — and maybe that was the folly, to have heard so much about the country that I went with ideas about what it would be like once I was there.

Jeff: Could you write about a country that disappointed you or even left you feeling troubled? How did your blog following react if they felt you were in a difficult place?

La Havana Cuba

Shannon: I don’t think I’ve written many negative posts on my site, I blogged about Cuba getting an “ish” from me on the ratings scale and then laid out what was going on in my life at that time. My readers were interested in my reaction and generally all the discourse was constructive and civil with some even agreeing with me.

Jeff: Did you ever get the traveler’s blues? When is it time to go home? And how do you know?

Shannon: There are times that I have been intensely lonely on the road, and generally that feeling passes within a few days if I take some steps to call home, relax, and give myself time and permission to have the blues. Long-term traveler has its own obstacles and the having the blues sometimes is one of them. I touched on this subject recently on my site, and noted that one of the ways I deal with the dynamic now is to recognize that I prefer to spend about six months on the road, alternated with a couple months back home. This has worked pretty well in my travels since that first yearlong trip.

Making Shrak Bread

 

 

 

These hands are from a woman preparing a traditional Jordanian bread called shrak; the saj is in the background and I love that that the image captured her steady motion as she prepared the dough for the fire seen in the background.

 

 

 

Sunset, San Pancho, Mexico

 

The series of sunset photos in San Pancho, Mexico are also a strong memory for me. The town I lived in for five months is a surfers town and has a nightly ritual where residents gather on the beach to watch the sun go down — that ritual became a mooring point for me and the tranquility of the gorgeous sunset shots transport me back to that town and that time and place in my life.

 

 

 

Jeff: I remember reading in the early days of your blog that part of your inspiration to travel was to get away from the States where the artist’s/ acting life is grueling and all too often unsustainable. You cited school debts and the high price of health insurance as factors pushing you to leave. Can you elaborate on this part of your experience? 

Shannon: My life in Los Angeles as an actor was just not sustainable. Over the course of two years I had wracked up debt, still had student loans to pay off, and was not really loving the reality of living in the culture LA incubates. There are wonderful people in the city, many close friends still there, but it was not a good fit for me and as I came to that reality, I also realized that I could pivot to a different dream — one that focused on better on consulting skills so I could have a steady income from working in web marketing and use that money to travel long-term. When I cam up with the plan it felt right from day one because it allowed me to prioritize two things I really wanted in my life 1) minimalism and carrying no debt 2) travel.

 

Jeff: Tell us about your last days in LA. What preparations did you need to make before you could leave? What was your mindset? Were you nervous, excited, stressed etc.?

Elephant Nature Park Conservation, Thailand

Shannon: In my last days in the US I was basically done with the core preparations and it came down to the goodbyes and the sinking understanding that I was actually going to be traveling solo for a full year. That realization sunk in while I was having a coffee with my best friend about six days before I left and it led to my first and (to-date) only full panic attack. I had a meltdown of epic proportions as the enormity of my trip overwhelmed me. Luckily it passed and I became better at focusing on the immediate next steps rather than the bigger picture. That helped me find the courage to step foot on the plane and kiss my friends and family goodbye for a year.

 

Jeff: While you were abroad, did you consider yourself an ex-pat? / Were you angry at the USA?

Shannon: Angry is a harsh word, I would never say that I travel from a place of anger at my country. Some parts of my country frustrate me — I prefer taking care of my basic health care while overseas — but I travel because I love the constant assault on my sense when I’m living in a new place. There is a thrill to each day learning a new culture, new foods, and nuances of a life different from what I knew growing up. At times I consider myself an expat, when I land in a place for 5-6 months I will rent an apartment and try on life as a local. However, my family lives stateside, as do my closest friends and that means the US will always be one of the places I call home.

 

Jeff: What have been the biggest surprises since you started your blog, and embarked on your adventurous life?

Shannon: The community that formed through A Little Adrift has been a wonderful by-product of my travels. I never envisioned that travel would become a part of my future work when I left in 2008, but through the community and encouragement from readers and others in the community I have shifted and found ways to make travel a part of my work and passion.

 

Shannon O’Donnel, Great Wall of China

Jeff: What’s the best advice you can give fellow travelers?

Shannon: Book your ticket. Set a realistic time-frame for traveling and then lock yourself into the plan. It’s easy to let our dreams slip away as time passes and you keep thinking “soon, soon I’ll book the ticket.” I’ve always found that when you lock yourself into a plan you rally yourself to meet the deadline and actually realize your goal. Travel is what we’re talking about now, but this really applies to most goals in life.

 

Jeff: And to come full circle, how have your travels impacted your acting career? Are there certain roles you now feel more prepared to take on? Or is writing your new career?

Shannon: I gave up acting entirely over the past five years — that is not to say that I won’t return to that career path, but right now I am more focused on sharing travel as a message and an actionable goal for people from all walks of life. Though writing will always be a focus, I plan to move into speaking with teens and young adults over the coming year about how to realize goals and dreams. Acting may happen in the future, but I’ve pivoted my life a bit and I find my creative outlet through writing on my blog, as well as through photography.

Photo Courtesy of http://www.flickr.com

Doll Baby

-Jessica Jonas

When her sister arrived, Sarah ducked back to the kitchen and turned on the faucet and the fan over the stove. “Amy’s brought a baby doll to dinner,” she murmured to her mother.

“Amy did what?” Cheryl reached to shut off the fan, but Sarah shook her head and leaned in closer.

“Do you know if she’s still seeing the counselor I recommended? Did he end up prescribing her anything?”

“Sarah, give me a chance to say hello.” Cheryl wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way to the front door, gripping the railings installed around the ground floor of the house. She had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis 12 years ago, but the disease had made only gradual progress until Sarah and Amy’s father died. Before, bad flare-ups happened years apart. In the first year following his death, she’d had three. Sarah had moved in to do what she could and, four years later, had never found a good time to move back out again. Amy had left the state.

For the time being, a cane or walker, household modifications like the railings, and round-the-clock caregiving were putting off the inevitable, but Sarah knew there was only so long that even the most diligent measures could work. Too much of her paycheck from the hospital went to pay the caretaker who stayed at the house during Sarah’s shifts. Some mornings, Sarah woke up still in her scrubs. But her parents had moved into the house a year after their wedding, almost to the day. Amy had been born there in the midst of a blizzard six months later. There were days when Sarah wondered if she should have sold the house already, but then the next day would go a little easier or she’d see her mother sun herself in a garden chair by a flowerbed planted before Sarah was born, and she’d put it off again.

Amy was wearing dirty yoga pants and a red sweater that made her complexion ruddy. There were more gray hairs coiling around her temples than Sarah remembered from the last time she had seen her. Amy had dropped her purse and a padded teal tote bag in the hallway and was trying to drape her coat onto a hanger one-handed. The other arm cradled a bundle in a yellow blanket. She leaned into her mother’s hug with one shoulder, angling the arm with the bundle away. The coat flopped against Cheryl’s back.

“Can you help me with this? I just got her to sleep.”

“Of course,” Cheryl said, taking the coat. “May I see?”

Amy smiled and turned down the blanket. “Meet Genevieve.”

Babysoft® dolls, according to the advertisement in the back pages of TV Guide, are handcrafted with love. Each one is unique. There are boys and girls, different skin tones and eye colors, bald Babysofts® and ones with hair (100% natural). Your Babysoft® weighs between 5.5 and 7.5 pounds, with skin made from specially treated vinyl to feel as soft and smooth as a real newborn’s. Babysoft® comes either awake or sleeping, and the arms and legs are movable to allow dressing, undressing, and a variety of lifelike newborn poses.

“Oh, how darling,” Cheryl said. “Look at that little face.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

Cheryl nestled the doll against her chest and straightened in surprise. “She’s warm.”

“That’s the thermal conduits,” Amy said. “She picks up body heat. The blanket’s specially designed to help her keep the warmth in.”

“Is that so?” Cheryl said, and handed the doll back. “She’s beautiful, sweetheart. Very lifelike. There are drinks in the kitchen if you’d like anything.”

Amy followed her mother and sister back to the kitchen and sank onto a barstool. “Cranberry juice would be perfect, if you have any. And an aspirin. It’s been a long day.” She noticed a cookie tin on the counter. “Ooh, did you bake?”

Cheryl smiled and shifted her cane to the other hand to open the fridge with her stronger arm. “It’s just the Tollhouse recipe.”

Amy popped the lid off and helped herself. “Heaven.”

Sarah took one, too, and bit. The cookie had spread too much in the oven, so the chocolate chips tasted burnt. “Do you need help with the juice, Mom?”

Cheryl waved Sarah away. “I’ll pour it over the sink. It’s not too heavy. Go sit!”

Sarah perched on the edge of the stool next to Amy, half her weight still on one foot on the ground, ready to get up if necessary. “You said it’s asleep,” she said. “What do you mean?”

Amy touched the back of the doll’s head. “I’ve been reading What to Expect in the First 12 Months as a reference, to get a better idea of how feeding and sleeping schedules work for a newborn. I’m doing the four-hour schedule, so she eats at four, eight, and 12. I keep an eye on the time and try to manage around her needs. We missed naptime earlier, so I thought it would be good for her to sleep a little bit now.”

“Oh. Gotcha. Well, all right,” Sarah said. “And you got it from the TV Guide?”

Amy beamed. “I was checking to see if Extreme Makeover was coming in with new episodes, and I saw her little face and had to have her.”

“I remember looking through the those ads when we were kids. We used to think they were hysterical. NASCAR plates and kitten figurines and weird dollar coins they’d try to charge you 20 dollars for.”

“I know,” Amy laughed. “All that junk! But that’s how I found Genevieve, and that’s all that matters. You wouldn’t believe the rush of love you feel when you see your baby for the first time, Sarah. It’s unreal. Do you want to hold her?”

“Maybe later,” Sarah said. “I’m glad you could make it out. We haven’t seen you in ages. Things have been crazy at the hospital. I’ve been looking forward to a chance to catch my breath.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Amy said. “Things are wild at work with the holidays coming up. Lots of crafters making DIY Christmas gifts this year. I’m doing a 12-hour shift on Black Friday.”

“How does it work leaving the baby at home all day?” Cheryl asked. “Do you hire a sitter?”

“I take her to work with me, actually. Two of the managers don’t care if I keep Genevieve in her little carrier behind the register with me, and when Deborah is around, I put her in the back room for a little while with a baby monitor and check in on her from time to time. I take her into the bathroom for privacy if she needs anything, anyway.”

The timer over the oven buzzed.

“That’s the chicken,” Sarah said. “Amy, would you take the salad to the table?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Yes, mom.”

“Why are you asking her about a babysitter?” Sarah said when Amy was out of the room.

“Just making conversation.”

“I’m not sure encouraging this is a good idea.”

Amy poked her head back into the kitchen. “Are you coming?”

“Of course,” Cheryl said. “We’re on our way.”

During grace, Sarah opened her eyes to watch her mother and sister. Cheryl leaned both her elbows on the table and gripped Sarah and Amy’s hands. Baking must have taken her hours, resting between stages when standing too long in one place made her fatigued. She looked to Sarah like she was propping herself up on her daughters. Amy rested only her fingertips in Sarah’s palm. Her other arm bent away from Cheryl in order to steady the doll’s head against her bicep, and she had one knee raised above the table to support its bottom. The doll squatted on her thigh, staring at Sarah.

“So tell me about my new granddaughter,” Cheryl said. “How long have you had her?”

“Three weeks on Tuesday,” Amy said.

“And you…feed her? Play with her?”

Amy nodded. “I feed her, dress her, make sure she’s not too hot or cold, change her. The same things you do with any baby.”

“What happens if you forget?” Sarah said. “Is there a chip in it to record whether you’re doing a good job?”

“No, Genevieve’s not a robot,” Amy said. “She picks up body heat, so she feels warm, and she’s designed to look and feel lifelike, but that’s it as far as technology. I’m the one responsible to make sure I’m taking care of her. Four is a nasty hour to be awake in the morning, but you’ve got to do it if you want to be a mom.”

Sarah choked on a mouthful of water. Her mother half-leaned to pound her on the back, couldn’t reach, and smacked Sarah’s arm rhythmically instead.

“Are you all right?” Amy asked when the coughing subsided.

“Great,” Sarah said. She tugged at a string of tendon in her chicken with her fork until it snapped. “Mom and I ran into an old friend of mine from college at the movies last week.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he just moved to the area. He’s opening his own chiropractic clinic in the shopping center by the Kohl’s.”

“Sounds nice,” Amy said, disinterested. “Maybe you’ll see each other around.”

“I hope so. We talked about getting together for coffee next week and catching up. We were close for a while, but we lost touch.”

“He wasn’t wearing a ring when we saw him, you know,” Cheryl said, tapping the back of her left hand with one finger.

Sarah laughed and rolled her eyes. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t called the church yet.”

The clock in the kitchen chimed the half hour.

Amy put a finger in the back of the doll’s diaper. “Whoops,” she said. “Someone’s overdue on a diaper change. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

“I’m sorry, did I not pay attention to you for five minutes, Amy?” Sarah said. “We can talk about you some more. Are you still seeing Dr. Allen? What does he think of the fact that you’re carrying a doll around? I don’t know, maybe it’s a new therapy technique I’m not familiar with. Please, I’m dying to hear more about it.”

Amy flushed. “You know, on the way over I was just thinking how nice it would be to get through one dinner with Mom without you being a bitch.”

Cheryl lifted her cup. “I’d like some tea, Sarah. Would you mind helping me make it?”

Sarah let out a breath. “Of course. Excuse us.”

When they were in the kitchen, Cheryl took Sarah’s arms. “Why are you letting yourself get so worked up?”

“How can you not? Mom, she’s carrying around a baby doll. She’s taking it to work with her. She’s losing it all over again.”

“I don’t think it’s anything so serious. She’s probably not going to get to have children of her own. I don’t think she dates or has a lot of close friends in Pennsylvania. It must be lonely coming home every night to an empty place. Think about those women who bring their little dog everywhere.”

“This isn’t a dog.”

Cheryl pulled a strand of hair off Sarah’s sweater. “She might not be ready for a dog. She can’t handle a lot of different responsibilities the way that you do.”

“Apparently she can, if she’s getting up at four every morning.” Sarah rubbed her forehead. “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you. I just wish she would act her age sometimes.”

“I know,” Cheryl said. “Now give me a hug and a kiss and promise to be nice to your sister.”

Sarah kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

Amy gave Sarah a sullen look when she came back downstairs, but the rest of the meal passed without another outburst. Cheryl caught Amy up on the lives of parishioners who had known the girls since grade school. Sarah withdrew into the caregiver role, the one to clear the dishes and get paper towels when her mother knocked over her tea.

After dinner, Sarah helped Cheryl back to her room so she could take her meds and a catnap before dessert. When she returned, Amy was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, changing the doll’s outfit. She hadn’t noticed Sarah yet. She took a bottle of oil out of the diaper bag, pressed a few drops between her palms to warm it, then smoothed it over the doll’s chest and arms. When she got to the hands, she hooked her fingers around them and made the arms wave, reaching out for her. She bent over and touched her nose to the doll’s. Sarah sat down beside her.

“Hey.”

Amy looked up and froze, a guilty expression on her face. Then she looked down again, pulled a small sock onto the doll’s foot and smoothed the cloth over the heel.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Sarah said.

“Mom already calls me, you know. I’ve already got her fishing to see if I’m slipping. Sometimes I think she wants things to get bad again for me so she’ll have someone to commiserate with.”

“Nobody wants that.”

“I’m doing fine handling everything on my own.”

“Sure,” Sarah said. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. Mom looks forward to these dinners too much.”

“Great, so let’s not fight.”

Sarah pressed her lips together. The moment was wrong, but she doubted she would get a better chance. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. I’d like you to check your calendar and spend a few days here soon, maybe a long weekend.”

“I already said I don’t need you to keep an eye on me.”

“It’s not that. I was hoping I could get out on my own for a little vacation.”

Amy looked quizzically at her. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, a bed and breakfast somewhere. I saw a deal online for one in West Virginia. I’ve got until tomorrow night to buy it.”

“No pressure.”

“I just want to spend a few days sleeping in and eating pancakes. There’s a horseback riding place nearby. I’m not sure they’d even be open, but it might be fun. Besides, I thought maybe you’d like to see a bit more of Mom.”

Amy spoke into Genevieve’s face. “I spend a lot of time here. Anytime I’m not scheduled for work.”

“Not for the last six weeks. And I’m here every day.”

“Yeah, because you volunteered to live here. Don’t play martyr with me, it isn’t fair.”

“I’m not playing martyr—” Sarah stopped herself. “It would only be for a few days. I just need a break.”

Amy held the doll against her shoulder and patted its back. “I’ll think about it.”

Sarah shifted. “So. How are things at the house?”

“Pretty good. A little noisy sometimes. The Williams have people over a lot.”

“Do you ever think about getting a real apartment? I can’t imagine living in someone else’s basement.”

“Not unless I start working 70 hours a week. It’s not so bad. They’re good people. You’ve seen my space, it’s basically an apartment. It doesn’t feel like a basement. Most of the time I don’t even know anyone else is there.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Amy took out a pair of knitting needles and began to make her way down a row of stitches, scraping the needles on the purls. “Mom’s looking pretty fit.”

“She won’t use the walker when you’re over. I don’t know what she’s trying to hide. She knows that you know she has one.”

“What’s the big deal? She’s doing really well. She bakes, she’s getting around the house fine, she told me last week on the phone she wants to plant a garden next year. Between the movies and church outings and all the rest, she’s got more of a social life than I do.” Amy said it lightly, but the sentence hung in the air.

“I do what I can. Being at home means a lot to her,” Sarah said. She moved to the couch and scanned the headlines of the previous day’s paper. For a while, the knitting needles scraped and the paper rustled. Sarah folded the section.

“She’s probably awake.”

“I can get her.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Sarah said. “She’s a little unsteady when she first wakes up.”

The blanket and discarded clothes were still lying on the floor in front of the couch when Sarah came back with Cheryl.

“Where’s Amy?” Cheryl said.

“In the kitchen.” Amy came in with the tin of cookies in one hand and the doll hoisted over one shoulder. “I don’t know what you put in these things, but they’re addictive. I could eat the whole box.” She sat on one end of the couch, tucked a pillow under her thigh, and shifted the baby into position.

Even though Amy had brought the baby bag with her, Sarah knew that Amy was not going to pull out a specially designed Babysoft® bottle to “feed” the baby. She knew even before Amy lifted her sweater that her sister had been wearing a nursing bra all night, knew that Amy would—perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not—let her bare breast dangle for a moment before she mashed the vinyl face of the doll against her nipple and flicked the yellow thermal blanket over her shoulder in a belated show of modesty.

Amy readjusted her weight, making the leather couch cushion squeak. She pulled a throw pillow from behind her back and tossed it on the floor, then leaned back into the sofa, jiggling the baby rhythmically against her breast. A soft, pale strip of her stomach was visible where the blanket didn’t reach.

“Do you need a shawl, sweetie?” Cheryl said finally. “I have one in my room.”

“Are you seriously still playing this game with her?” Sarah said.

“It’s not that important—”

“Yes. It is. Amy, put your fucking toy away.”

Amy’s arms tightened around the doll. “Don’t call her that. You don’t understand—”

“Don’t even start. You left me to do everything, and you drop off the face of the earth for a month at a time and then show up and compliment some cookies, and you think that’s enough? When are you going to show any meaningful interest in anyone besides yourself? I am here every day, do you understand that? Every single day. I don’t get to go out, and I don’t have time to make-believe some special world where I can have what I want, and you’re either too stupid to understand that or you don’t care. Jesus, all you do is sit at home breastfeeding a piece of plastic, and you want to make me the bad guy?” Sarah’s hands were shaking. “You need to grow up.” She reached out and grabbed at the doll. Amy, startled, caught one foot by the ankle. There was a pop as the joint pulled free.

Genevieve was heavier than Sarah had expected, a six-pound sack, sagging toward the bottom and lolling in the head. She almost dropped the doll. Maybe the thermal conducts were what made it feel warm in her hands, maybe just the sweaty heat of having been wedged against Amy’s armpit. The skin didn’t feel anything like a baby’s. It was slick, giving. It felt like it was melting into a sticky vinyl mass. The head nodded toward the leg dangling from the socket.

“Oh, Sarah.” Cheryl touched the disjointed leg gingerly.

Amy had begun to cry in that silent, red-faced way of hers. She had tugged her sweater back down and crossed her arms around her ribs, cradling herself. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Sarah could feel her mother’s eyes on her. The first thought, exasperated, was, And all either one of them is going to remember is the moment I screwed up. Then the guilt crept in, for both the doll and the thought. She was the one in the right, she knew she was, and that knowledge wasn’t going to be enough. Neither was a long weekend, or a date, or a horseback ride, even assuming she could get any of it. And Amy probably was going to keep nursing the doll, at home or in the stall of the employee bathroom during a 10-minute break, and that wasn’t ever going to be enough for her, either. The anger was still there, but it was useless. It wouldn’t change anything. The weight in her hands felt pitifully small.

Sarah shifted her arm under the doll’s bottom and let its head drop onto her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to break it. Her,” she said, the pronoun awkward in her mouth. “Let me see if I can fix the leg. It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”

Cheryl sat next to Amy and rubbed her back. “Don’t cry, now. Oh, sweetheart…”

Sarah put the doll on her lap. Genevieve was perfectly made, she had to admit. The makers had even designed an imperfection: a rosy “birthmark” on its knee. She considered it for a moment, then put one hand on its stomach to steady it and popped the leg back into place. Neither Cheryl nor Amy looked up at her. Sarah hadn’t expected them to. Amy was leaning into her mother’s shoulder and Cheryl was stroking her hair. Cheryl’s chin rested on top of Amy’s head. It occurred to Sarah then that she couldn’t remember the last time her mother had looked taller than either of them.

“Doll Baby” is excerpted from Jessica’s brilliant debut collection, Room Full of Strangers. 

Jeffrey F. Barken and Diana Muller together at the Book Stop Cafe, Kenmare Ireland, June 2013

“We relied heavily on Skype to complete the project and have been in such regular contact that it’s been easy to forget that we haven’t been in the same room for about 6 years…” Diana Muller, the Irish artist who illustrated This Year in Jerusalem, recently posted on her blog.

“It was, of course, a challenge,” Diana has reflected on her website. “The short story genre can be tough to illustrate without spoiling or diminishing the story arch. Illustration is usually associated with children’s literature, this is very much the opposite.  Some of the themes are  uncompromising and upsetting but all in all it was an immensely fun and rewarding experience. I decided to go back to basics in term of style and medium and went with black and white sketches in ink with a bamboo pen. I think it suits the subtle yet gritty descriptive language of the book…”

Jeffrey F. Barken reading from “This Year in Jerusalem” at the Book Stop Cafe, Kenmare Ireland June 12th 2013

Next stop, the Book Stop Cafe. On a misty Wednesday morning we piled Diana’s stash of books into the car and drove into town. The Book Stop is a cozy little spot not far from the town center and open market in Kenmare. Once you taste the coffee and a sandwich it’s hard to leave. The bookshelves are stocked full of exciting classic literature as well as intriguing titles by local authors. Warm music keeps spirits high.

We set up a table with our books and some of Diana’s prints and began inviting passerby’s inside. Soon we had a full house and our guests were clamoring for me to read. I read the from Bells, the first story in the collection. Bells is about a young South African refugee who finds himself clinging to the hope of receiving an Israeli volunteer visa as his only means of avoiding deportation. I think this story is the perfect introduction to the book, because it takes the collection’s principal character, Myles, on a journey through the holy city and examines certain geographic realities about Israel that don’t typically occur to readers. Mainly the fact that despite Israel’s contentious policies and history, the country’s democracy is envied. Throughout Asia and Africa many oppressed peoples who know little to nothing of the Arab-Israeli conflict see Israel as a beacon of light and seek refuge at any price.

These are some of the “uncompromising” and “gritty” themes that Diana has sought to capture in her illustrations, and we saw immediately the power this book has to invite conversation. Friends who had already read This Year in Jerusalem came out to have their copies signed and enjoyed giving us detailed feedback about their favorite stories. Meanwhile, the pleasant atmosphere gave us a chance to introduce ourselves to the various tourists and locals who were passing through the cafe. Everyone, it seemed could relate to our topic in complicated and emotional ways and we learned a great deal from the Book Stop’s patrons who all had unique perspectives of Israel and the deluge of troubling news that so often flows out of the Middle East.

Diana Muller signing books at the Book Stop Cafe, Kenmare Ireland, June 12th 2013

When it came to signing the books, it was exciting to contemplate the rare nature of our reunion and the fact that we were setting loose into the world a truly unique series of our final product. Out of the first 600 copies printed of This Year in Jerusalem, there are only 40 bearing the signatures of both Diana and myself. Our guests eagerly stood in line for signed copies, and it was immensely fulfilling to be able to take our time in such friendly atmosphere and discuss the book personally before signing.

In the days that followed, Diana and her friend took my wife and I on a brilliant tour of Kerry. We even tried to track down the legendary Irish surfer, Joe Roddy, whose story also features in the Author’s Note. In the evenings we played music and games with Diana’s family, and enjoyed diving into the wonderful life at Brushwood Studios. Special thanks to Diana for hosting us and to all who attended the book signing. We look forward to organizing similar events in both Ireland and Israel soon!

~Jeffrey F. Barken

On May 11th 2013, my wife and I invited Baltimore artist, Dara Lorenzo to decorate our apartment with her original prints in the tradition of our previous Gallery Nights. Dara and I worked together to construct a one night exposition that celebrated the publication of This Year in Jerusalem, and explored themes that are essential to both our work. The evening was a fantastic success and represented our fond farewell to Baltimore. Visitors enjoyed touring the different rooms and reading quotes from the book as they passed through the space. A stunning installation in the bathroom made the exhibit truly unique when Dara floated several of  her smaller prints in the bath-tub, and used candlelight to illuminate the room. Click Below to tour images of the gallery, and to read their accompanying excerpts:

~Jeffrey F. Barken 

Enter Gallery