What were you doing yesterday afternoon at approximately 3:47 p.m.? Huh. Sounds reasonable. You wanna know what I was doing? I was meeting the police at 170 High Street.... Read More
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… on marshal dejeweled, odd metaphors, and being a man
Oh, hey! Sorry for the mess, John’s been gone since Sunday and it’s been pretty hectic. I know I only have one kid at home right now, but it... Read More
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… on an empty nest, temporary ocd, and calvin and hobbes
I’ve written about being a mama bear, even a bristly one. Protecting cubs, advocating for cubs, and the occasional mauling of a particularly obstinate threat. Oh! And the tree... Read More
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… on why blaze could not have had plastic surgery in europe
Late last night I heard some commotion at the side door. Monty was up and woofing, so I came downstairs and, lo and behold, Blaze was back early from... Read More
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… a text with sam
Poor kids. When all the world offers up fodder for a blog post, they never know what’s coming. But, in my defense, sometimes I offer a warning.
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… a poem for my new friend. death becomes her.
The Undertaker’s Rose My new friend wears a great expression Not sadness, anger, nor depression You’d have to offer your concession That ‘happy’ is her first impression She cares... Read More
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… on her pies and a golden tassel
Her pies. This conversation started out Friday night with Number One Son, Sam calling from New Orleans to let me know that he was feeling as if he was... Read More
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… a text from sam
I admit to being late to Facebook, but I was early to texting. I love it for the reason that, with busy kids, nieces, nephews (and other under 25... Read More
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… a poem on a weathered tree, for weathered humans
Weathered I stopped today beside the old tree, its branches peppered with fall’s last leaves. The ground beneath a carpet of gold, each fallen leaf a story untold. I... Read More
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… on loving football and being feminist peewee pervert
My nearly perfect husband had made me a roaring fire in the fireplace. Chicken corn chowdah (a Dingle Family fall staple) was on the stove. Gabe (one day into... Read More
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… on spousal literature and eye-rolling and the wizard of oz
This morning my nearly perfect – but wishing he identified more with murderous, sociopathic tendencies – husband was making my coffee. He was a little heavy on the cream... Read More
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… a poem because I walked into a falling leaf
Today I walked through a breeze of leaves swirling and whirling and dancing with trees, who bustled and leaned and reached and grasped, trying hard to catch them and... Read More