My hands look like they’ve been hit by shrapnel. The Persian rug is imbedded with sawdust, pine needles and sticky spots of sap. The trunk of our Christmas tree, which can be clearly seen through the sparse branches, is warped in the middle. That’s what I get for telling my husband to pick out the…
self-image
Commercialism? Humbug!
As I put my skeletons back in the closet (literally) and threw the gnat-infested jack-o-lanterns in the garbage, I was seized by the desire to dig out my ceramic light up Christmas tree and plug it in. WHAT? Start decorating for the winter holidays before Thanksgiving? Have I been brainwashed by the evil retail industry?…
Under a Tuscan Cloud
“Mom, the bucket!” my ten-year-old cried from the middle seat of our minivan. We were fifteen minutes into a nine-hour drive from our military base in Germany to Italy. “Last night’s chicken noodle soup,” she weakly observed after emptying the contents of her stomach into the pail. I carefully retrieved the sloshing container and held…
Hormone-Induced Writer’s Block
Apparently, hormones have taken control of my mind. I tried numerous times to concentrate and think of something interesting, poetic, or even mildly amusing to write about last week. Instead, I found myself frantically stuffing food in my face, falling asleep, or dreaming of making out with Leonardo DiCaprio (sick, I know, I could be…
What I believe about Hell and hand baskets