O Mighty Crisis Stories

12

Handiwork

Woodworking. Jewelry making. Embroidery. Felting. Pottery. Knitting. Gardening. I am fascinated by handiwork, as art, as personal pursuit, and as cultural artifact. Just as much, I am fascinated by the psychological benefits of creating something with the hands. Certainly, there’s pride that comes from making something beautiful. There’s learning that...

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8

Vigilantly Constricting

Then there was the time I hotfooted into yoga class ten minutes late and discovered that, uncharacteristically, the teacher had taken some time for talk before movement. Hoping to illuminate the theory behind the practice, she’d explained a few terms and their role in the various poses we’d be doing....

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13

Blogging Like Rihanna’s “Umbrella” Is the Fresh New Tune

Back in the mid-aughts, when blogging was fresh and new, it seemed like everyone had a blog. Those of us writing recipes, rants, and random raves could toss out a post–and within 24 hours, there might be 40 comments. The blogosphere was jumping. During the heyday of personal blogs, it...

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14

Nine Volts

Chirp. My brain is asleep. So is my body. The noise doesn’t fully register. After a quick blip of “Huh?” I drop back into the blackness of sleep. Chirp. Hell and damn it. My brain pushes to consciousness like it’s swimming up from the bottom of a murky lake, half panicked,...

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13

Full Moon, Agitated Hearts

As is my way, I was racing the clock, squeaking in to the meeting two minutes late. In my defense, I was hustling because I had stopped to buy a baguette to set out during the meeting, in case anyone needed a late-afternoon snack. While at the store hunting down carbohydrates, I...

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8

My Thing

I’m a firm believer that teens do better if they have a “thing.” Preferably not heroin. Ideally, the thing might be football, chess, sewing, soccer–some activity that helps navigate the journey toward self-definition. When we’re young and don’t yet know what we are or who we’ll be, having a “thing” can clarify. For...

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18

Miss Gastrocnemius

I walked down the empty corridor, the modest heels of my pumps clicking satisfyingly on the tiles. After a three-hour night class, I couldn’t wait to get home for dinner and an icy drink, so the clicks echoed quickly, pertly. As I passed one of the the Auto Body classrooms,...

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22

Clicking Along

I walked down the empty corridor, the heels of my pumps clicking satisfyingly on the tiles. After a three-hour night class, I was eager to get home for dinner and an icy drink, so the clicks echoed quickly, pertly. As I walked, I considered the joy this class was bringing...

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17

Seizing It

We stood in the kitchen, eating Sunday morning biscuits and working out a quick schedule of the day–as families do–figuring out who would drive downtown to take two boys to the matinee who would drive up the hill to help the fourteen-year-old pick out black dress pants for her band photo...

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