On a miserable and drizzly November evening nine years ago, I sat down to a bowl of pasta with my ex-husband. The streetlights had stayed on most of the dark Seattle afternoon as I sliced bread with detached precision.

It was no fluke that I chose to prepare spaghetti that…

Here is a little black cat story, more serendipitous than scary, about our small cat Penny Dreadful.

Many years ago, in the frigid early spring of 2006, I had an experience with ‘re-homing’ a small dog. A terrier we adopted took a vicious dislike for the new baby, and would…

Originally published in Open Salon 2012

I was already pregnant when I met Gregory Peck.

Chuckanut Drive wound beautiful and clear along the Washington coast as I drove north to Bellingham on a sunny winter evening, filled with first date apprehension. …

Googling Someone to Exhume my Dog

(originally published on Open Salon in 2010)

Many years ago in the back yard of the first home I owned, near an old cherry tree, I buried my dog. The spot is marked only by a small chunk of stone.

This past fall our…

Glen Smalley died on the bedroom floor of a Kansas farm house on the fifth of December, 1918. It was a historically mild and dry Kansas winter following an exceptionally bitter and cold 1917. A new father and a strapping, handsome man, Glen was twenty one years old. In the…

On the day the music returned, I drove myself to work as usual, steering my car into the seedy wasteland underneath the Alaskan Way Viaduct. To save $9 in parking, I stepped gingerly over the broken wine bottle shards and walked the mile into downtown.

I do not recall what…

Together in the middle of the circle of the sky

Just post dawn in the burgeoning light my twelve year old daughter and I climbed the winding road up through the Koke’e mountains as our first whole day on the island of Kaua’i included plans to see the Waimea Canyon…

Kelli Kirk

Baker, Writer, Mother of 2, Seattleite. Taking back food from The Man one pickled vegetable at a time.

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