Tag Archives: farmer’s market

Summer: the book report.

Ah, summer reading, the special torture devised by teachers to deprive children of a carefree break from school. I hated summer reading. I’m a slow reader, for one thing, and, for another thing, I have always had a penchant for reading junk fiction. My teachers didn’t care. They never, not once, assigned a Ken Follet…

#winning.

In the end I could blame Sue for posting the article or David Sedaris for writing it. And since Sue is my friend and David Sedaris is someone I’ll probably never meet, I choose him. Yes, in the end, the whole thing is David Sedaris’s fault. **** We live across the street from my friend…

Life, without instructions.

From age 12 to age 19, I made a fortune babysitting. Terminally responsible and usually available, I was the go-to Saturday night supervisor of people only five or six years my junior, people who are now my good sources of parenting tips on Facebook. The handful of families on my A list kept me flush…

If Laura and Hillary were pals.

I’ve been thinking about the war among women and our deepening factions. We who question Jill Abramson’s firing. We who think women belong at home. We #YesAllWomen sign carriers. We who snap photos of other mothers’ bad parenting and send them to police hotlines. We who are pro life, and we pro choice. Anne Lamott…

An embarrassment of parents.

I dreaded the mornings when my father drove my third grade carpool. Daddy, whose one-time party boy reputation was unknown to me at the time, insisted on listening to WEZI, the easy listening station that played nothing more radical than instrumental Perry Como covers. He would hum along, occasionally opening the window to spit, the…

Shouldering the weight of the words.

“Roots and wings,” my mother said at least 4,000 times when Margaret and I were growing up (and by “growing up” I mean our entire lives). The wings part was always directed toward me, as I was apparently timid and lacking independence in my early years (swear to God). Roots was aimed at my sister,…

Mother’s Day, with gas.

This year for Mother’s Day I bought myself a SodaStream. ******** Two years ago, in my worst-ever performance playing the role of Mom, I did not receive the Mother’s Day present I requested (for three years in a row), so I stormed down the stairs screaming, “I’ll just buy my own damn Mother’s Day present!”…

Always pack a sandwich.

My friend Fredericka, Colorado native, retired horse trader, and daughter of a fresco painter, never left home without snacks. Fredericka and I met when we both taught at Noble and Greenough School in Dedham, MA. She looked pretty much like you’d think a Colorado native, retired horse trader, daughter of a fresco painter would look:…