Category: Life in America

This is really really true.

I haven’t written much here lately. I don’t have a really good reason, other than the THOUGHT of writing a POST has gotten so HUGE-NORMOUS in my mind, that I actually get terrified and just run away. However. Yesterday, my friend Chris posted a link to Hyperbole and a Half’s latest post “Depression Part 2.” This…

Cargo Pants, Packing Lists, and the Pothole of Despair

Do they sell just the PEZ refills? Anywhere?My house is full of crap. Our world is full of crap. Today at the store, the cashier and the customers ahead and behind me and I were all talking about back-to-school sales. Old Navy-this and sales tax free week-that. The kind of mindless conversation we humans love…

What We Did in Summer

Aniah and The Swimming Pool

My memory of my youth is a haze of fine particulate.I don’t remember what I did in the summer as a kid. Not specifically. I remember that I played outside with the neighbor kids and my siblings. We rode bikes and ran around. I went on vacation with my family. There was the library and…

Our Memories Become Theirs

How the Past Travels ForwardAt the beginning of my parenting experience, I said “no” often. The noise and the mess was a lot to handle. Not to mention the plain issue of just keeping track of where all the little live bodies were in space and time. And what they were planning to put in…

Without Remembering

Another sunrise, another lifeCreating is not remembering… It is to look and to hear and to write — without remembering. It is the immediate feelings arranged in words as they occur to me.” — Gertrude Stein We are all in our ruts, our patterns, our habits. It’s a relief, I suppose, to discover they are…

I Submit to You This Broken Heart

I submit to you this broken heart. A year ago, I (unintentionally!) kicked a little snowball down a snowy hill, and I discovered how cold and mean life can be. I am awfully terrible at telling personal stories, and since this story has intertwined a few other hearts of people I love, I am not…

On Going Mental

Yesterday one of my oldest friends called me… from the “inside.” Well, to put it more clearly, she called from an inpatient psych ward. My friend and I have known each other now as long as we have not known each other… longer actually. And since she met her husband about 3 weeks after I…

11 Minutes is alot of Time

Today is wrote a small stone called “The Time.” I wrote it for two reasons. First, because I notice I had about 11 minutes before the kids had to leave to go to school. The kids were happily engaged in something and I suddenly thought: “Hey! I should write my small stone right now, while…

Take a Letter, Maria

The person I most dig, admire, croon after, and just all-around want to brain-pick (for the year 2012) is Maria Popova. In case you haven’t gotten any of my many nudgings about her awesomely curated website Brain Pickings, here’s another one. Her site (and the weekly newsletter, which is any artist or bibliophile’s perfect inbox source for…

Resolve – A Beautiful Word

In the next week, you’ll likely ponder, and then make, New Year’s resolutions. Yes, you’ll break them eventually, and that is what I’d like to mention. The root word for “resolution” is the word “resolve.” This is a beautiful word. As a verb, it means “to solve a problem or a dispute.” This could be something personal and internal (the classic…

Beautiful Writing: Decadence by Kelly Letky

Here’s a post today from a writer and poet that I love, Kelly Letky, also known as “Mrs. Mediocrity” and “The Blue Muse.” This poem is called “Decadence.” (click to read it) Kelly posts her poetry with original photography. This enhances the poetry, solidifying the imagery in her writing. But it also shows the direct…

Food We Eat (or Don’t)

I stopped by Nick and Heather’s house yesterday to drop off a tablespoon of bourbon for a truffle recipe Nick was making. I asked Nick what he made for his family Thanksgiving. “I made this delicious farro recipe. Want to try it?” It wasn’t until a depressing day in 1994 sitting on the steps of…

When I’m Wearing Home Shoes

These are my “home shoes.” I don’t mean slippers or anything like that. What I mean is: when I am wearing this shoe configuation — ie. tennis shoes and blue jeans — I feel “home.” It’s a cultural thing. And a family thing. Growing up, this is what we wore: white tennis shoes, blue jeans,…

No Prize is Modest to a Poet

A little poem of mine is published this quarter in Boston Literary Magazine. (yay!) I’m only bragging a little, because it’s funny to go prancing about saying “Oh look at me! I got a poem published,” … because I hardly ever update my Facebook status with the more common haiku news of my life: Rejection…