by Vanessa Blakeslee
I spent the first week of October with my father, side-by-side in the Florida condo where I’ve long resided. Pieces to a board game lay scattered throughout the house, the wooden board missing, likely destroyed. A three-quart, stainless-steel Calphalon pot surfaced, eerily bent into an oval. Shards of broken glass and plaster littered a decorative tray. Together, we tallied the damage: photos torn, tools vanished, laundry basket and other household items gone. We repaired a hasty spackle job covering up a blow to the wall where the glass, or a fist, had landed. I spent hours crouched with a dustbin, picking up bits of fine glass from across the living room floor. The same man who had wreaked havoc on my home had also left open the passenger window of my car, apparently during heavy rains. Several inches of putrid, standing water awaited me when I climbed in. Read more at Bustle . . .
Also by Vanessa Blakeslee, “Pura Vida: Reflections on the Good Life,” Freshly Pressed!