The Diary of Beautiful Enchiladas

Category: Writing

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    Adolescence Turns Fifty

    By Neva Knott My high school boyfriend turned fifty Saturday. His wife threw a party for him at Dirty Dave’s the pizza parlor in Olympia that we’ve all frequented for forty years or more. It was a surprise party, and I offered to jump out of a cake. I got off work too late to…

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    Writing, and Then There is Writing…

    By Neva Knott I think writers work from events, from the literal to the metaphorical, weaving between the two to build a story that, hopefully, will touch the heart or mind of another. I believe everyone has a voice that matters, that counts. As I so boldly put it as I introduced myself to the…

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    The Long Bus Ride Home from War

    By Neva Knott It’s Tuesday, July 5. I’m bartending at The White Eagle Saloon, a small music venue in Portland, with an 11-room hotel on the top floor. The bar is pretty empty. Everyone has the holiday hangover, I guess. My first customers were a nice couple who’d just checked in to the hotel. Just…

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    Bus Stop Angels

    By Neva Knott Monday, while walking my dog, Josh, in the rain at the little park by my house, the one next to Rose City Golf Course, I heard from under the boughs of a large tree, “Hello.” I looked up to find a man taking shelter from the rain. He was wearing a head…

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    Talk Here

    By Neva Knott Sandycrest Terrace. The first place I lived all on my own as an adult. The first place I was totally financially responsible for myself. The first place I was in charge of my whole life. Twenty-two, naïve, alone. Just me—paying the bills, figuring out who I’d become. I found myself there after…

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    Cloudscapes

    If you’ve never stared off into the distance then your life is a shame…                                                    By Neva Knott Redmond. This Central Oregon town hasn’t changed much since its founding a hundred…

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    Punk

    By Neva Knott It’s sweaty. I’m pushed right up front against the stage, to the right of Andrew’s drum kit. I don’t care about the little groupies trying to get his attention. Caitlyn’s here, too, and we’ve been his best girls for 20 years, so our vibe is move over, cute little things. I’ve been…

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    Leg

    By Neva Knott “It’s scar tissue.” She runs his hand over the lump on her left thigh. It’s soft against the muscle under her skin. Just under the lump is a firm indentation. She worries that he, as her new lover, will just think it’s fat. “I was hit by a car when I was…

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    Pickin’ Me a Bouquet of Dogwood Flowers

    By Neva Knott I’ve been thinking about music lately, thinking about what it means in my life, the poignant songs that smite my heart, the weight music carries in the world. Friday, and I’m driving to work. I felt weepy. Don’t know why. The infamous Pacific Northwest rain descended this week, all of a sudden.…

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    Hawaiian Immersion Graduation

                  As was often true with colonialism, the missionaries deemed languages of the “heathens” to be coarse, base, unintelligible–forbidden, even. Use of one’s native tongue was disallowed, and use thereof was punished. In result, languages came near to extinction, as happened here in Hawaii. When missionaries arrived in the islands, they began their insurgence…