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June 2009: St. Louis, Missouri: A Wedding So Lovely I Sometimes Was Able to Ignore the Humidity
Back in 1993-1994, Groom worked as a student naturalist at an environmental learning center in Northern Minnesota; during that year, he accrued a passle of friends who have hung together over the years. One of them, John, got married last weekend in St. Louis. Groom’s first memories of John, back at the environmental ed center
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Home, Trashed Home
As the countdown to the demolition of our kitchen ticked away, we continued our own initial destruction, tearing out cabinets and removing ceiling tiles; it got to the point where little in the room needed to be kept functional or pristine, and then Groom really cut loose. He hung bowling pins from the rafters
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Not Occurring in Nature
A convergence of events led to the following string of photos. First, my city is revamping its entire school system (in a really logical fashion that is entirely in the best interests of the children because its end result will be at least 32 kids in EVERY classroom and not just in most of them),
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If You Like This, You Should Read the One About The Time My Bra Fell Out of My Ear at a Bat Mitzvah. That’s ‘My Ear,’ Not ‘My Rear
Mostly, I’m glad my antics didn’t break her water. I have a friend in the neighborhood, you see, who is in her 28th week of pregnancy; part of her MO when pregnant is to have the baby early because she only has half a uterus (somehow, her uterus is bisected and, thus, has only half
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Ain’t We Lucky We Got ‘Em
During the 1980’s, I attended junior high, high school, and college. To recap that, for those of you Distractites who are reading this with one eye locked onto The Housewives of East St. Louis, I was an adolescent of the ’80s. Thus, all of my worst hormonal moments of wracked self-esteem were accompanied by
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Instead of Being a Gumshoe, I Chew Gum and Buy Shoes
I’m trying to figure out why I don’t feel like sitting down and writing a post this week. Perhaps it’s because I just finished a year (my 19th) of teaching writing, because I have been spending every evening the last two weeks compiling and editing a 100 page student publication, or because summer classes start
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Preeeeeeeepare Ye the Way of the Froth
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I Can’t Even Look at These Photos Without Needing to Roll My Body in Pancake Batter and Flip Myself into the Non-Existent Arms of the Badly-Combed-Over, Green-Suited Fisher-Price Man Who Worked Changing the Stoplight From Red to Green in the Toy Village of My Youth
To summarize that title: for me, much of the zest of life is tied up in food and toys. If Buzz Lightyear could hobble up to me, holding a cob of corn dripping with butter, I’d take him to infinity–and beyond. If a Chatty Cathy doll could toss me a quesadilla, frisbee style, I’d pee
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Gallery in the Galley
In which I blather again–oh, holy Jeebus, yes–and then some more. If you can’t tolerate the video, or if it just makes you cry too much, the upshot is: my husband can’t get a critique of his art work. So that means you should give him one.
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In the End, Only Quentin Tarantino Could Do It Justice: Part IV
Silence. More of that. Then some silence. After two minutes, Groom finally put down his bowl of ice cream and meandered over to my prone form. Holding his spoon up to my mouth and noting that it fogged up with my breath, he returned to his snack and enjoyed the unaccustomed silence. The next day,
