Wedding Umami
June 30, 2011
I have that pervasive shiitake mushroom feeling, as in, holy shiitake, I’d better figure out what happens next for me, or I’ll be left behind.
I have that pervasive shiitake mushroom feeling, as in, holy shiitake, I’d better figure out what happens next for me, or I’ll be left behind.
“Best Unadorned 30-Something Angst” Writing poetry is courageous in and of itself, and analyzing love poems {well} is downright enviable. But doing all of this and still remaining likable/lovable…well, that deserves an award! Poems About Boys* When I was a teenager, I wrote poems about boys; didn’t we all? How could I help it? Boys […]
I actually feel like a big jerk even bringing up this hackneyed story, but I proceed anyway, with the idea that American society has something important to learn from our treatment of Charlie Sheen, and all any nation can do, in addition to helping other nations in need, is better itself.
I looked forward to the dances all month long, and I can still remember the anticipation, as if something amazing might happen in a roomful of twelve-year-olds. Sometimes, it did, but that’s between me and the bleachers.
Five years ago, when I first opened the package containing the wedding quilt that a woman whom I consider to be my honorary grandmother crocheted for my husband and I, I thought the colors were oddly dull. When I opened the package again after my divorce, they seemed glowing and vibrant; I now display the […]
When our marriage fell apart nearly five years after Perogi came into our lives, she was our only mutual asset. It was a little like having a child; our love had demanded her presence, but that love was over and she was still here. Though we both loved her enormously, for many reasons that I won’t get in to here, “custody” (so to speak) of her little self went to me. Over these last several months that she’s been in my care exclusively, I’ve tried to do right by her, but last week, I failed.
I like to say I’m learning about adulthood, teaching myself about the ways of people who are keeping their shit together, but I’m pretty sure I’m just a creeper on the hunt for fuel to stoke my envy. I’m curious and clueless.
The economy is broken; the rich have too much, and the rest of us don’t have anything. The rest of us are grateful for scraps, and nothing makes me want to throw a good ol’ proletarian revolution than an afternoon of house-hunting.
Quiet can be hard to come by when you decide to have an exciting life; it’s an interesting trade.
Those gunshots cleared up my selective hearing; they were crisp, authoritarian reminders that sometimes the one thing you don’t want is the one thing you have to live with, and that sometimes, even the most wrenching ends are justified.