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Still At It
Since I have stacks of papers this week–both revisions and new essays–I’m going to continue to milk the anniversary in this post. Here are a couple of videos wherein I babble about our weekend. The first video has ice and gives you a spin of the kitchen. This next video has a picture booklet and…
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Bestill
My dad was the person who taught me to be comfortable with silence. We could get in the car and drive for twenty minutes without a word being spoken. While his and my mother’s relationship ultimately cracked under the weight of that silence, for me, the daughter, his quiet felt benign, reassuring, a safe…
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Just Jam It All into the Inbox and Yell ‘F*** It’ A Lot
There is a National Association of Professional Organizers. In the Denver area, a professional organizer makes $75/hour. My sister, overwhelmed and anxious in the face of her stacks of belongings, uses a professional organizer. In fact, she’s committed to drawing upon the inheritance from our dad’s and grandmother’s estates to pay this organizer until the…
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Hello, PetCo? I’d Like to Cancel My Line of Credit
When I met him, my husband was a naturalist. Raise your hand if your first thought, after reading that sentence, went a little something like “Jocelyn’s husband was a nudist????” Now put your hand down, Tinkerbell. You’re all alone in front of your computer, after all, which means it’s kind of queer to keep…
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A Guest Post from My Pal Jim Who Grew Up in Wisconsin, Spent Many Years in Minnesota, and Now Lives in Palm Springs
So, yes, the post below is the latest pinch hitting by my friend, Jim; in past times, he’s also written about performing in GREASE and seeing Elizabeth Taylor. In this latest, he considers his move to California a couple of years back. Enjoy his musings, as I jet off to Colorado this weekend to help…
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You Want to Come to Their Potluck
I noted in my last post that my body is descended from a long line of human couches. I like to think our cushions are covered in the softest of plush upholsteries and that those allowed to fluff our throw pillows are both deserving and grateful. Below is a literal line-up of my genetic line:…
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Skeletal Superiority
I married up, genetically. Whereas I had lost three grandparents by the age of eight, my husband is nearly thirty-nine and still has three. My last-surviving grandparent died when I was thirty-one; his first-to-pass grandparent died when he was thirty-seven. What’s more, I come from a long line of smooshy, well-hipped, prodigiously-hootered women. Our body…
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Goodbye, Fifteen
Thanks to Frank and Moon Unit Zappa and their “Valley Girl” hit of the ‘80s, I was equipped with adequate attitude and language, at age 15, to convey my scorn for the aged yee-haws who surrounded me: “Oh my God, I am, like, so sure I will ever be 40. Having all those wrinkles would…
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The True Harvest of My Life Is Intangible
“The true harvest of my life is intangible – a little star dust caught, a portion of the rainbow I have clutched” –Thoreau For its rich colors, its slanting light, the way the axis of the world exerts its tilt, the feeling of delicious melancholy, the accordion pleating of previous warmth with impending cold, the…
