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Protests Quashed
For once and all, I’m surrendering. I don’t hate poetry after all. The issue in my early years seems to have been the wrong poetry applied to the wrong brain. Now that I’m flailing through Older Years, I keep bumping into precisely the right stuff. Finally, I get it. Poetry says stuff differently enough that we…
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Wherein This Becomes the Easiest Place for Me To Show Pictures To Family and Friends; For All Other Readers: I Appreciate Your Forebearance
What with turning seven and all, Paco had a party the other day. Paco and Groom made the invitation. The rock monster on the highest ledge represents Paco. He yells, “It me birthday!” The festivities began with some pinata whacking, which resulted in a tumble of fruit snacks, candy, and Scavenger Hunt clues. When I…
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A Little Song, a Little Dance, a Little Seltzer in Your Pants
At 7:47 a.m., there is the skitter of an elf hurtling toward the bed. “I’m coming to give you your cuddles, Mama!” Usually, Paco’s Hug My Mama time lasts for about ten minutes, until I rouse him towards the bathroom to get ready for school–and by “rouse him,” I mean zzzzzzzllllllbbbrrrrrr his tummy, talk to…
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When It Works In My Favor, I Go Biblical
This week, I’ve been waiting for news. It came this afternoon. Girlfriends (and Furiousball, who is total Honorary Girlfriend): next year I’m going on sabbatical. For the whole year. Those of you who read my last post are, no doubt, able to appreciate how welcome and timely this news is. The truth is that many of the…
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Blech
Sometimes I start a blog post, and then it sits as an unpublished draft for months, even years (case in point: the draft post about how I’m not looking forward to the presidential-nominee battle between Hilary Clinton and Barack Obama). This lag is probably a good thing, as it reminds me of the importance of letting things gel, of…
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Fear Not Bold Colors
During my early years, I shared a room with my sister. According to the dates on the photos, it would appear I was about two when Kirsten and I moved into our shared room. I’m also told we went to Disneyland when I was two, making that a very busy Year of Unremembered Wonders. Here we are,…
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No Jive Turkey
When I was in elementary school, sometimes I’d score a rare, coveted invite to Shauna Bergendahl’s house across the street. She was about five years older than I and had perfect blonde feathered hair, the kind of Farrahed coif that shot her to a position as Head Majorette and a spot in the Homecoming royalty court. With neighborhood…
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My Top Ten List of Things That Had the Potential to Be 10/10’s This Year but Were, in Their Actualization, Mere 7/10’s…and If That Concept Doesn’t Hurt Your Head Just a Wee Bit, Then I Have Failed in My Mission and Need to Label This Post’s Conceit a 7/10 and Add It to the List
Balls are dropping, and I don’t mean geezerly Larry King’s. There’s also a sparkly one in Times Square that’s making a slow descent. People are drinking jaw-dropping amounts of alcohol and wearing pointy hats and acting as though hands moving on a clock can signify change, all of which sounds like my last birthday party, to tell you the truth.…
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Dear Rival Gang Leader Tom Logan: If You Ever Try to Take Over My High School Fortress-City, I Will Lob a Molotov Cocktail at You, Which Will Be My Only Recourse Since It’s Not Like I Can Go Tell My Mom, What With That Virus Wiping Out Everyone Over the Age of 12 and All
When I was a kid, I read this one book. Oh, all right, Sherlock Hemlock: I read about 4,000 books. Approximately 3,800 of those reading experiences have fallen into the crevasse carved into my brain that night in college when I drank too much Jagermeister. Fortunately, I still carry the imprint of the other 200 books (only…
