You know when you’re at brunch and the waiter talks of their artisan jam? “It’s made from hand-picked organic cherries in Michigan, this tiny little farm off 96, and we infuse it with fresh mint from our herb wall over there and really, you’re not going to believe it. It’s divine. Trust me. Would you
For posterity, is all: Dear God, It’s me! Thank you for a wonderful day. Actually (Mom, can I say actually? – Yes, you can say actually), OK, actually, thank you for hedgehogs, too. I think they are just so funny when they sneeze. Please help me to sleep good. Thank you for my hair and
This morning, I read a beautiful passage from an interview with artist Janine Antoni, who once learned to walk a tightrope for the art commission, Touch. She says this: So, I practiced tightrope for about an hour a day, and after about a week, I started to feel like, I’m now getting my balance. And
She: Calling them hand fives. I’ll have done something smart like remembering to switch the laundry or googling what hedgehogs eat (cat food, go figure?) and she’ll say, Great job, Mom. Hand five. It’s been arts and crafts, crafts and arts. There is a thin layer of glue smattering everything east of the office. I’m
Well, listen. I think you’re fine just the way you are. Sure, you might benefit from a crash course in assertiveness. It might do you some good to cut the sugar, to read the classics, to schedule yourself a detox bath twice a week. But it might not. It might just make you feel gloriously
So, you’ve been unplugging from the Internet and are all caught up on the adventures of Del Griffith, Cousin Eddie, Kevin McCallister and Ralphie Parker? Feeling like a detox from the popcorn, the hot cocoa, the leftover buckeyes? You’ve taken 18 walks around the neighborhood to see the lights, you’ve built the gingerbread house, you’ve
Fear of mistakes. She gets it from me. Last week, during a reading lesson, we’re working on ‘meat.’ She says each letter’s sound, slowly, surely, and I tell her good job, let’s say them as a word now, let’s read it together. But I might get it wrong, she says. It’s ok, I say. Getting
Roughly nine years ago, I wrote gift guides for a living. I’d title them with sly, witty link bait like, ’10 Genius Gifts For Your Co-Ed Nephew Who Swears His Alarm Clock Is Broken But We’ve Seen The Timestamp On His Twitter Feed.’ I don’t do gift guides anymore. — Once, years ago, I scoured
