The Reemergence of Ragsdale

It has been awhile. Four years to be exact, although it feels like an age since I was sitting on a stoop in Sibiu, pontificating on the delights of Romanian rosé. and fancying myself some ridiculous wayward gypsy princess. Reading through my last offerings to this quiet little website I found myself reeling with a… Continue reading The Reemergence of Ragsdale


Romanian Roses.

When I leave you, precious island I forget I understand that not all is well on our poor earth not right in many lands. The beauty of these mountains  the flowers bright and true make guilty of the wanting to quietly return to you. From the visage of hotel rooms I have seen the world… Continue reading Sewing

My Husband Caught On Fire (and now I’m damaged)

I was walking through my neighborhood today, off to my favorite quiet little cafe to read and relax, when I turned a corner and stopped dead in my tracks at the sight before me. It was the old Ryukyu house that I had always loved walking by because it reminded me of how ancient my… Continue reading My Husband Caught On Fire (and now I’m damaged)


“GET OUTTA THE ROAD YOU FUCKING DYKE!” The car swerved around me, three twenty-something US enlisted guys in crew cuts screeched so terrifyingly near me I could see the pimples on their bland, white, crazed faces. They sped off in their silver Skyline, preferred car of douchebags on Okinawa, muffler sputtering and growling as I… Continue reading Dyke

Christmas at Warren and JJ’s Place

Christmas is a particularly awkward holiday when you are an expat. It was alright when I lived in London because they basically spoon-fed you all the holiday spirit you could stomach from the start of November. And it was cold and dark. There was mulled wine. And a whole plethora of Dickensian allusions to be… Continue reading Christmas at Warren and JJ’s Place

Tamam Shud, A Story

“Cheers,” he wheezed, as the salt dripped down his soaking ginger curls to his fresh, slick chin. “But I think I’ll be savin it for the last.” He coughed at the single cigarette with a blue violence, but he sniggered. “I’ll not be dyin of the cancer so that’s a lark innit?” He was sure… Continue reading Tamam Shud, A Story