With a broken-down oven, in a hotel kitchen, on an uninhabited island
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Mary Zelinka works at the Center against Rape and Domestic Violence in Corvallis, Oregon. If she could take her friends and job with her, she’d move to the coast and walk on the beach every day no matter what the weather. Her writing has appeared in Calyx, Open Spaces, and Out of Line.
Photography suited my father, loner that he was. He’d come home from his job as an airline pilot, give Mother a peck on the cheek before changing out of his uniform, and drive off again with at least one of his three Rolleiflex cameras. When I was a child growing up in North Carolina during the early fifties, he’d acknowledge me only if I was in his direct path.