O Mighty Crisis Stories

One Hot Day 18

One Hot Day

Lawsy, it was hot. We’d weathered a memorable ride on a mini-bus (dolmus) to get there, a ride packed full of sweating bodies overlapping each other, a ride reeking of body odor, a ride without moving air to calm the overheated brain. Once we got off the mini-bus, we then...

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Taking Stock 22

Taking Stock

As one year ends, and a new one begins, it is tradition to slow down for a moment to take stock. Although I generally chafe at tradition, and although I tend to exhaust myself by taking stock every day of every year, I do like the notion of recording some...

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Merry Banana-mas to All, and May Your Pants Be Skin-Tight 16

Merry Banana-mas to All, and May Your Pants Be Skin-Tight

“I’ll have a banana split,” said the nondescript man in the Member’s Only jacket, placing his order. A banana split? For high school girls working the counter of Rimrock Mall’s Hipster Doogan ice cream and corn dog emporium, an order for a banana split was cause for excitement. Sure, we...

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Where I’m From 28

Where I’m From

A lesser daughter would have been mortified and fled down the corridor to stuff herself into the nearest locker, slamming the door and refusing to ever come out. A lesser daughter wouldn’t have stood there, hanging close, her face flushing red as she, too, fought back tears. A lesser daughter...

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That’s Right, Billy Joel: Here’s Another Fire You Didn’t Start 25

That’s Right, Billy Joel: Here’s Another Fire You Didn’t Start

Last night, I told my husband, “In case you were doubting my power or questioning my influence–and it’s the wise man who does neither–I have definitive evidence that I’m changing the world.” “Really?” he responded, cagily remaining neutral until he figured out what direction this announcement was headed. “You got...

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While I Still Don’t Look Like A Model, I Am Closing in on Hairy Old Grandma 24

While I Still Don’t Look Like A Model, I Am Closing in on Hairy Old Grandma

A group of girls–some of them my “best friends”–wrote this note and gave it to me in junior high. As much as the words still make my stomach hurt (do we ever lose touch with our 11-year-old selves?), and as much as I fall to my knees and thank the...

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Flushing the Queer Birds out of the Bushes 15

Flushing the Queer Birds out of the Bushes

She was built like a hobbit hut. Squat. Stout. Solidly constructed. Unlikely to tip over, even when besieged by orcs. Then she bent down to examine something on the path, and as the elastic waistband on her denim shorts stretched to its limits, the outline of her person both shrank...

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Conscious Sedation 18

Conscious Sedation

The other night, as I was sipping the head off my third beer, I started to contemplate the complex relationship I have with my yoga teacher—even though she only knows me as Beefy Lady in the Colorful Headband. Although I have recently discovered subtleties in my relationship with this woman,...

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Summery 21

Summery

I haven’t been taking a break from blogging on purpose. Rather, summer hit, and life sped up to the point that there wasn’t a minute in any day to think about writing or visiting blogs. As summer winds down now, I”m left thinking of the slow, dark, cold months ahead...

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The Boogie Started to Explode 19

The Boogie Started to Explode

When my daughter was two, her developing speech couldn’t quite articulate the words hair clip. Instead, what came out of her mouth was hippie kip. Naturally, charmed by our creation, Byron and I started copying her words, and in no time at all, a hair fastener, in our household lexicon,...

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