The idea of starting my own “writing rituals” never occurred to me until recently, but I’ve been able to think of little else since it did. I have always had a few reading rituals, especially on rainy or wintery days…or whenever in the year I decided to return once more to the chill but happy comforts of Jane Eyre or Little Women or Anne of Green Gables. Continue reading “Confessions of a non-writing writer”
Sometimes, when I’m sitting quietly on my couch crocheting and watching West Wing, my mind wanders a bit and I end up rethinking things I haven’t thought in a while. This morning, it was this: wouldn’t it be great if there was some outward sign that a person was poison or evil or generally not worth the skin they’re printed on?
I’m having a difficult week. So are the kids, but we’re all attempting to keep that to ourselves and put on a happy face. Continue reading “These are the times that try [wo]men’s souls.”
If you were here this evening, you’d be parked next to me on the sofa, and draped with a lovely homemade afghan. I’d offer you a choice of coffees, and you’d quickly realize that mine is much less premium than my husband’s. This would no doubt cause you to raise your eyebrows, because it’s obvious in like two seconds that my sweet husband is not the high maintenance partner in our relationship. Except when it comes to coffee.
Anyway, here are a few of the things I’d probably tell you over the rim of my cup while I was fantasizing about chocolate: Continue reading “Just coffee, because everything that’s good with coffee is bad for my healthy way of eating.”
A few weeks ago, I heard from someone I hadn’t thought of in years. It was kind of funny in that “the huge guy in charge of the universe is watching me with creepy eyes” kind of way. A couple days before, I’d been randomly surfing The Facebook and found a comment she’d left in a place that neither of us should’ve been visiting–online or off–unless our intention was to throw flaming bags of shit, cackle maniacally, and then run rapidly in the other direction. Continue reading “Flaming bags of shit”
I’ve been reading a lot lately. My year-old Kindle Paperwhite has gotten so much use that I’ve almost got myself talked into the necessity of purchasing an Oasis when the tax money arrives. I keep thinking: wouldn’t it be nice not to have to turn the pages quite so often? Wouldn’t Mama love to have my current Kindle to replace the one she lost? Why, yes! YES. And then I think, hells bells! I could read while I’m standing in the damn ocean! Continue reading “The annual tax return pre-shop”
I grew up in a town. By some standards, I guess my hometown could’ve been called small, but it never occurred to me to think of it that way–not then and not now. My guess is that all the old small town sayings might have been true back in my grandmother’s day and maybe even at the beginning of my mom’s, but by the time Continue reading “Old Friends from Home”
I’ve been doing a thing for a couple of months now. It feels like a secret, like something I should be ashamed of, like people will judge me once I say it out loud. To most, it will almost certainly sound woo-woo and strange, maybe even like I’m taking an extended ride on the pseudo-science train. But here’s the thing: Continue reading “I eat beans.”
Here’s the awful truth, y’all: I have resting bitch face like you’ve never seen.
I started noticing it about six or seven years ago. I’d catch a peripheral glimpse of it in a mirror or in the glass part of a classroom door as it shut and I’d be momentarily stunned at the face I saw looking back at me. It always took me a minute to react, to try Continue reading “RBF”
Sometimes I think there’s nothing I love more than making lists. But then I remember how much I hate hyperbole and how–really–I love all these other things a lot more. Continue reading “Things I Love”
I like to think that I’ve finally gotten too old to give a damn. Certainly, I mostly act as if that’s true. When Mom and I are out and about misbehaving and I happen to look up and catch someone staring, I usually smile at them and go right back to our conversation. Who gives a rat’s ass what they think about us? Continue reading “A Little Temporary Descent”