You know the old saying If you want something done, ask a busy person to do it? (I think it’s Lucille Ball’s wisdom—and I totally love her—but please.) Don’t ask me to do your something. Not that I’m busier than everyone else, or even ANYONE else. What I am is...
Spontaneity Revisited (Like Brideshead, except with spontaneity. And also not at all like Brideshead.)
For My Daughter On Her Birthday
On July 14th, 1999, you made me complete. A nurse slipped you into my arms (all four pounds, fourteen ounces of sticky skin and soft bone), and I looked down at your tiny face and knew you for my own. These trembling hands were cradling the first great-granddaughter; the...
For My Grandparents on Their 76th Wedding Anniversary
As of today, June 27th, 2018, my grandparents have been married for 76 years. 76. YEARS. While that number sinks in, I’ll share a story about the day the two of them met. He introduced himself as Andy and she told him she was Ann. I like to picture...
When the New Baby is Coming: Petal Lashes
The petal lashes blink once, twice. A third time. I don’t believe you, his blue eyes say. This is what he knows: There is a bed in my room now. Next to my crib. I pull tufts from my blanket, white balls that look like bubbles. Mama’s belly is hard...
Today call me laid
Today call me laid but I’m referring to grammar; more specifically to the infinitives to lie and to lay. So if your Google search brought you here for something sexier, you’re in luck. There’s nothing hotter than the proper conjugation of verbs. (Besides sentence diagramming or an explication of...
On Motherhood and Mistakes
Motherhood can feel like one long string of mistakes, a jumbled mouthful of “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry for the sighs I’ve heaved and for the rolling of my eyes. I’m sorry I’ve wished my children would just “be quiet” and that I have—at times—longed for their silence rather than...
Today call me feathered
Today call me feathered. I have been since last Saturday when, at the Relay for Life in Camarillo, California, I purchased a feathery purple boa with a stanza from an Emily Dickinson poem attached at one end: Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul – And...
Today call me racy
Today call me racy because oh boy, am I ever! (As long as you don’t confuse the word racy with sexy. Anyone who says “Oh boy!” is permanently banned from that club. So I’ve heard.) No, I’m talking about actual races. Which I run sometimes. On days when I’ve...
To ink or not to ink…
You might recall I’ve been exploring various ways to commemorate the Joys of Summer; first with Botox, then with the Brazilian wax. I’ll spare you the suspense now: I pursued neither of these activities having deemed them both expensive and temporary. (Plus—in the case of Botox—potentially paralytic; and—in the case...
To My Daughter on her Birthday
On July 14th, 1999, you made me complete. A nurse slipped you into my arms (all four pounds, fourteen ounces of sticky skin and soft bone), and I looked down at your tiny face and knew you for my own. These shaking hands cradled the first great-granddaughter; the first...