Flying Island

Chorizo by Teri Costello Huevos con chorizo on Sunday mornings, a snapshot of San Diego I had never seen. Your childhood. Noisy, rowdy, poor. Steaming platters of frightening food served by the dark-eyed waitress, and you, buttering my bread. The cooks singing to the yipping Mexican music on the radio, cranked up. And you, my green-eyed Sicilian, fascinating me, naïve White Girl. Playing, laughing, listening to gospel music roar from the Baptist church.   Nobody hid when the unusual rain came to Southern California that morning; Perfect was everywhere. Do you remember the weekend in Ensenada that year, climbing the rock face stoned, Phil Harris in Hussong’s? It’s different there now. Have you heard? Bio: Originally from San Diego and a CPA by profession, Teri Costello took down her shingle in 2011 and moved to Indianapolis after living in Los Angeles and Chicago. In her words, “Life now is sweet, close, and personal.”

Change By Teri Costello It was winter. I wore the uniform, suits and high heels, hairdos and makeup. My charcoal wool suit had a slit up the back of the skirt, just enough. Meeting each week to strategize with the boys at the downtown office, I made recommendations to improve their accounting. They were my age - early forties. Young Turks. The conversations were smart. I was hitting my professional stride. I knew what I was about, what they were about, what they needed, and how to deliver. Good times. In a singular moment, walking down the hall to one of those meetings (it was a Wednesday), my world changed forever. I felt the earth move under my feet, like the song said - but not in a good way. As I entered the conference room, all heads turned, all eyes were on me, mesmerized by the worms slithering out of my nose, mouth, and ears, the flames shooting out of the top of my head. I started to speak and couldn’t put two thoughts together. Most of my vocabulary was gon...