Category: Object-ification

In which I moan and whinge about “things”– purchased, consumed, drunken, and otherwise.

We had a potluck at church last evening. Leading up to the dinner, the kids asked: “What is a potluck?” and we delved into the realm of American food tradition, as well as word etymology! A fun lesson for 6 year olds! The conversation — and the many crock pots at dinner — inspired me…

by Elizabeth Howard

It is still a coming realization for me that I am my own person. Even when I was a little kid in a big family and I was deciding what I wanted to “be,” it was hard to imagine I could be just exactly who I wanted to be. Part of life is the never-ending search…

by Elizabeth Howard

Number four child was TRYING to whisper in Jolly Old St. Nick’s ear at the Santa Village when she was interrupted. Elf: “WHICH PHOTO PACKAGE DID YOU BUY?!” the elf barked at us. Me: “We haven’t chosen one yet,” I said. “We wanted to get in line before it got too long.” Elf: “WHAT?! Well,…

by Elizabeth Howard

At the post office, the hated post office, where lines greet me and awful racks of greeting cards Line walls, ignored. The post office and its Perfume of desperation. The place where scales and stamps sit in dusty corners Like aristocrats awaiting their bloody fate. The post office, doomed, because It is about PLACE and…

by Elizabeth Howard

I want things handmade. I want a life devoid of BPA-worries. I want the holidays decorated in popcorn strings and toes of knee-high socks filled with sticky penny candy and tiny oranges. I want to have the hot cocoa, but not the packaging the dried chocolate-flavored granules come in. I want to make the gift…

by Elizabeth Howard

Today on “House Hunters International,” a family of four from near-Toledo were seeking a vacation home in St. Croix. They were a nice family: he an ER doc. She a nurse (now SAHM of a 9 and 14 y.o). They needed an escape from their designer, 5400 sq ft. home in the most wealthy (ish)…

by Elizabeth Howard

August retreats. It hands us back the year. Summer isn’t truth, but it is (as Harris Telemacher recites) “What we wish were true.” So many of us Shove out this Season of perspiration, lazily Forgetting how it Slows us Beguiles us Presses us to hold still Find the windy spaces With a friend In the…

by Elizabeth Howard

Here’s what keeps happening… I keep getting self-conscious and don’t want to say anything so I stay quiet. Then something like a week passes and I think: what happened to that time? Oh my goodness, if I am just quiet, if I don’t say anything, what meaning does it all have?! How can I remember…

by Elizabeth Howard

… we don’t know Anything about each other. Curving leaves Hidden roots One long dead Stem. How much Attention Does she need? Day 25, A River of Stones

by Elizabeth Howard

Eyes fixed on mine, Nearly. Chin cupped into Palm. Furrowed brow, “Huh.” Call and response. You listen. You don’t agree. Day 12, July A River of Stones

by Elizabeth Howard

This heat has No name at all until You remind yourself He. Is. There. Exit the climate-controlled Iceblock Bedroom Only to hit The Wall. Day 11, A River of Stones

by Elizabeth Howard

small squares hold together life tiny reminders in brilliant hues– one thin strip of sticky soon wears away Day 3, A River of Stones

by Elizabeth Howard

Fine, Matt. This is posted because you told me to. I am about to tell you something really gross that’s going to make you puke, so get the bucket. I don’t have to work at all if I don’t want to. (Go ahead. Heave away. I’ll wait while you blow your nose.) Back? Feeling better?…

by Elizabeth Howard

My husband is mowing the lawn right now… Shhhh. Can you hear that? No that isn’t (just) the sound of our gas-guzzling 42″ Ariens Super-Deluxe Tractor Mower/Cheese Slicer. That’s the thundering palpitation of his heart. Damn, some things a woman just CANNOT get in the way of, no matter how environmental-y she is. A man and the…