We all have one, the childhood friend that pushed us out of our comfort zone, for good or for bad. Mine moved in across the street in third grade. She was fun, she was daring, she was blond. That next summer before fourth grade we played and played. Troll dolls were all the rage. I… Continue reading That One Exciting Childhood Friend
Every morning I get up, feed the dogs, boil a pot of water, and make a blog post. Then I drink my cup of hot water, scroll through Facebook, and wait for my reflux meds to kick in. Then I eat breakfast, take a shower, and start my day. I usually return to the internet… Continue reading My Day Offline
If a person had a rental unit near the beach and let her friends use it as a discounted rate, and one of those friends liked to clean everything with one grungy sponge, and then she left it under the kitchen sink, can you guess what would happen after that? The next friend came down… Continue reading A Grungy Sponge Story
In 1969 Max Yasgur’s pig farm in upstate New York sounded like the place to be for three days and three nights. Frank had been delivering the Woodstock tickets for weeks on Long Island at his job as a summer letter carrier for the U.S. Post Office. He and the other summer carriers knew it… Continue reading Skipping Work for Woodstock, 1969
(re-run) My chorus just did two back-to-back performances this past weekend. There are 120 of us this semester, with only thirty men. The men sing the bass and tenor parts, and five of us women sing the higher tenor part with the guys. Why, you ask? Because we five gals have a lower range than… Continue reading Lady Tenor in a Sea of Men
Tomorrow will be Daisy’s adopt-a-versary. That’s right, the day after Christmas! I had looked at free dogs at the local SPCA, but all that was left were big dogs: pit bulls, overweight standard Dachshunds, and other large mixed breeds. I gave up on the “free dog” idea and came home to look online at my… Continue reading Daisy Rescue Dog One Year
The world is far different today than when I was a kid. How many generations have said the exact same thing? Cave Man: Me cold. Cave Woman: Me cold cold. Next generation: Cave man: Me cold. Me strike rock against rock. Fire! Me warm! Cave woman: Me cold. Move over! You get the idea. Every… Continue reading Is That a Mouse, Mr. Milkman?