Cathy Schieffelin
Bio
Writing is breath for me. Travel and curiosity contribute to my daily writing life. My first novel, The Call, is available at www.wildflowerspress.com or Amazon. Coming soon: Snakeroot and Cohosh.
Stories (40)
Filter by community
Family Adrift
We had a sailboat, an old Surfwind - like a Sunfish, only bigger, with blue and white sails. We didn’t sail in Cleveland but hauled that boat to Michigan every summer where we kept a cottage on Glen Lake. It was idyllic. Dad loved to sail. He’d disappear onto the water for hours. We’d go with him sometimes, but I think he preferred the solitude. It was his time to be alone and think and put the pieces of his life in perspective.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Fiction
Unleashed
When told to jump, that’s what I did. My paper airplane ticket used as a bookmark took an unintended trip a few hot summers ago. We were out on a friend’s houseboat – a sizeable vessel in the middle of Lake Powell in Utah, on vacation. It was a gorgeous day, sun overhead and bright with a bit of breeze kicking up. The lake full of boaters and water skiers zipping around… vacationers taking advantage of summer’s bounty as laughter mingled with the scent of Coppertone and birdshit. Gulls gliding, their raucous calls echoing from boat to boat. I lay on my back, sunning myself, reading the next chapter of Jackie Collins-styled smutwork. As I turned the page, my plane ticket took flight as a liberated butterfly, carried on the wings of a passing breeze. It fluttered through the air, gracefully, landing in the shimmering black waves of the lake.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Families
Fire and Ice
Table’s set. Sterling cutlery – Spanish Provincial. Delicately ornate dessert fork, horizontal over Wedgewood bone China plates, adorned in baby blue flowers. Baccarat claret glasses placed two inches behind Waterford water goblets. Egg-shell hued Damask linens dress the lustrous Chippendale table, revealing curved legs of rich Mahogany as Acanthus leaves swirl seductively upwards, begging for a peek.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Feast
California Closet Make-Over
A mother’s love should be boundless. But it’s not. A mother’s love might be selfless, but it shouldn’t be. But a mother’s love should ensure safety and healing. Sometimes it doesn’t, because it can’t. Sometimes it’s conflicted, painful and manipulative. Sometimes it breaks you in two.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Confessions
This Too Shall Pass
Every time I think I know the lay of the land, things change. Mountains rise in front of me where I’m not expecting them. I lean forward, pushing my heels into the earth and hike upwards. The things I thought would bother me don’t seem so bad. The anticipated ick of chemo – no taste buds, bit of nausea, exhaustion, loss of more cranial peach fuzz – it seems okay… even, manageable. Truthfully, the anticipation of losing my hair was far worse than the actual head shaving experience. I’m getting used to things – sort of.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Viva
Parched
Her: He hasn’t told me where we’re going – but we’ll be flying. “Pack warm, outdoorsy clothes and hiking boots.” I’m stronger. Less broken. The desperate loss of Sadie – I still bleed for her. That’s what I called her. I’m sure she was a girl. It was almost too early to determine but she was more than just a collection of cells. I felt her soul leave that morning he found me. They say God only gives you what you can handle. That’s not true. I was swallowed by grief so vast, it hurt to breathe – the very thing we need to do as humans to survive.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Fiction
Tethered
Calliope's in the back yard, training yet, another pup. She fosters them from the nearby shelter. This one’s all black, short and stocky with a square head. Strong and playful, she struggles to keep the dog from pulling her off her feet. The pup is just that – a pup. I’d guess seven or eight months old. Reminds me of days gone by with my Granny Sawyer, training our herding pack.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Fiction
In Over My Head. Content Warning.
The sand burns my feet. My instinct is to run on tip toe – get off the sand – into water. I fight the urge – searching for my inner warrior to withstand the pain, even burning pain. I want to be one of those wise souls who walks over hot coals or withstands Arctic cold wearing nothing but a look of contentment. Earth’s elements can't crush me. I want to be a part of them... to feel their intensity and immensity. I welcome discomfort.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Filthy
I Disappeared Today
I disappeared today. I’m not sure when it happened but now I can’t find myself anywhere. My family can’t see me, my colleagues can’t hear me, my dogs don’t even smell me. I’m just gone.... into thin air. Actually the air is thick and murky and has a sulfurous smell. So if I’m not here – where am I?
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Confessions
