I learned to drive in the fall of 1980, when the future tasted like a raindrop on the tip of my tongue. It was after the summer we moved from my growing-up house into one that, in my mother's words, didn't have room for my father. It was the year we packed up books, clothes, … Continue reading Independence day
He thought his third wife was "the one," and for a while she was. But, to be fair, so were wives one and two, as would be four (and probably five; I wouldn't know, we lost touch). "The one" ultimately had nothing to do with the wives and everything to do with him. But wife … Continue reading Farewell, Bob the elf.
On Wednesday, after a long day at work, I got home and remembered that I hadn't gone to the grocery. In a week. And we had no dinner plan. And everyone was hungry. So I made cheese soufflé. If you know me, or if you've been here for a while, then you know that cheese … Continue reading Cheese souffle and the kitchen table.
An actual family dinner conversation: SON: [to MOM] "So, why'd you move all that stuff and mess up the big room?" MOM: "I need more space for my art and sewing and things. Maybe I'll have people over, teach a class; who knows? I might even teach you to sew, so you can sew a … Continue reading A few things: November 2017
"I know you said you don't want any of this, but I think you'll actually want one thing," he said, dropping some folded papers on the kitchen table. It was a letter, five pages in long-hand, from my mother to my father, a few months before they married. When we had gathered the belongings from my mother's garage years ago, the letter must have slipped from a box into an adjacent pile.
In the back of her closet, behind the clothes, next to the dresser, were two shoe boxes, each of which held a pair of peau de soie-wrapped stilettos, one pair cream, the other bright kelly green, both size 7 AAAA. I'm certain about the cream colored pair, which were her wedding shoes. I'm less sure … Continue reading Matrescence.
After her fifth or sixth miscarriage, my mother, resigned to the reality that a baby might not be in the cards, went with my father to the animal shelter and came home with a puppy. Without much debate they named the small, black-and-white ball of fur Happy, partly because the dog's mouth was shaped in … Continue reading Happy.
I met Martha Stewart there, though not in person of course. Her rosy cheeks shone at me from the display table by the east-facing door. I don't remember what year it was, only that it was the season between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and that I was with my mother, and that I was in my … Continue reading Goodnight, bookstore.