In the grocery store, my second year of college. I’m standing in the checkout lane, a cart full of “necessities” – a new shower curtain liner, shaving cream, Special K. I scan the rack displaying magazines and gum, flip through the latest issue of Glamour. A woman with my grandmother’s earrings waits in line behind
I’ve been toting around a notebook daily, minutely. At home, it sits next to swollen oranges and a few bruised apples. Otherwise, my coat pocket. Yesterday, Bee asks me if I write lists so I don’t forget things at the grocery store, and I tell her yes, but also so I don’t forget the grocery
I used to get dressed in the winter, used to rally against the cold and put together a somewhat-presentable uniform for my weekly grocery run or a library return. Once, lifetimes ago and certainly pre-children, I dressed myself up for an afternoon matinee, heels and all, a double layer of mascara. What’s the occasion? the
Head’s Up: Sponsored By Nature’s Way I have heard it stated this way, simplified: Work. Relationships. Wellness. Pick two. But I prefer David Sedaris’ version of four burners, retold in an old (beautiful) piece for New Yorker. That our lives are a stovetop of simmering pots – friends, family, health and work. That to be
We greeted Christmas by trudging through the icy medical clinic parking lot under a black sky, the gloved hands of two feverish kids holding our own. Dual breathing treatments, Nebulizers, three coloring pages and a mystery Dum-Dum (outcome: root beer). It was anything but magical, but there was a moment spent pacing the carpet tiles
It occurs to me that there are many voices whispering into the ears of new(ish) parents, particularly around Christmastime. For one, there is the reality that we are not getting any younger, that these babies are precious and this time is weighty. Make the memory! Seize the day! We have only seventeen Decembers left before
I haven’t given much thought to birds in the past. Once, when visiting India, I remember noticing that when a flock of pigeons would fly all around you it was like breath, like molecule, their noisy wings thrumming to the beat of your own heart. You were altogether surrounded. As if you were the same.
The temps have dropped and there’s a pie in the oven, and Harold the Backyard Squirrel has been in hiding all week long. So yes, I suppose it’s time. And while I’m not prone to penning gift guides on the regular, I’ve noticed a staggering pattern in my normal inbox requests: Erin! My niece is