From the category archives:
You want it back. You want your luck back. You raise an eyebrow at people who say blithely, “You make your own luck.” Your gut insists that the playing field is not that even, but maybe your gut is not as wise as you once thought it was.
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New Jenny the Single Mama (Not) at Work post over at Work It, Mom. Hey, email me or comment with your worst online dating tale, and I may turn it into a haiku. Or a really filthy limerick, depending on just how out-of-hand it got. And if you leave a decent tip in the tip [...]
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Nina sleeps heavily beside me on the couch. She will die on Thursday morning. The vet will come to the house and I will hold my red girl and kiss her soft head, and she will be gone, just like that. I cannot imagine saying to anyone I love (or anyone I don’t): You will [...]
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This dying crap is just lousy. No fair, God. You don’t play fair, and it’s hard to like that about You. Yeah, You. If you’re even paying attention. I go to the supermarket. I am careful to avoid the Juicebox Aisle of Sudden Tears. I buy Pull-Ups and mixed beef-and-carrots baby food and a deli [...]
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It’s all about sin and redemption,
my friend says to me after the film.
Sin and redemption, I say,
over and over. By the time
we get to the car, I am crying
hard and I cannot stop, not
even with promises to myself
of pho and spring rolls
and graceful countenance…
[Read more]
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My dearest Hattie Belle, These are difficult times for you and me. I know it’s hard to be six. I wish you knew how hard it is to be 39, with two daughters you love more than you love yourself. But you: You tell me that you are never getting married, and that you are [...]
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When my parents divorced after 26 loooong years of marriage, they made the necessary phone calls to me and my brother. I was at graduate school in Westchester County, NY—living in a crap apartment, alone. I remember getting The Call from my dad, and listening politely as he went through his version of the events.
I just listened. I may have eaten some chips.
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Imagine: A box shows up on your doorstep. Inside, it contains an old mini-DV camera, batteries and 25 hours of footage of you, exactly ten years ago. Exactly ten years ago, you were the subject of a documentary project, a film that didn’t happen, after all. But the tapes exist. And there they are. You [...]
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I honestly don’t know what to do with it, the old, once-trusted voice. On one hand, I feel grateful to it for getting me this far. But mostly, these days, I just want to tear it out of my chest, drag it out back, and shoot it.
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