Monthly Archives: December 2009
Flower child
On the drive home from school, Gavin tells me, “I’m going to bring you flowers when I’m all grown up.”
“Are you? What kind?”
“Whatever kind you like best.” And then after pointing out an unusual truck, he adds, “What kind do you like best?”… Read more
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Instructions
Begin with your palm. And your mouth. Begin with your eyes, your laugh. Swallow greedily. After a meal, a couch and a sprawling, much interrupted conversation.
Settle. I have only begun to tell you.
Rest your head. Beside me is a space
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Humphrey Bogart and the antihero
During a fight, I get snide. That’s my default. My defense. And yesterday, I realized that my favorite Humphrey Bogart films were the other ones. Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Caine Mutiny, and In a Lonely Place. The films where he was vulnerable,… Read more
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Magic Words
My ex is engaged to be married. And I’m not sure I could possibly be happier. It helps to be a major fan of the girl. It helps to love him. To be candid, nothing about this announcement is bittersweet. It’s a relief to know… Read more
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Technology's bitch
I don’t mind owning my enslavement. I am technology’s bitch.
My five-year-old is now good enough at the video game, LITTLE BIG PLANET, that we routinely top our own high scores. Today, he cut me off. ”OK, we’ve played enough for now, Mommy.”
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My child can make your child bleed
I can think of any number of phone calls I don’t ever want to receive:
“There’s been an accident ….”
“I’m so sorry—your child—I’m so sorry ….”
“We’re at the hospital ….”
“We have the results; it’s malignant ….”
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Skylight
Last night I helped a friend move. A garrett apartment, with a loft, a skylight above the bed. Ideally utilitarian — appliances, and fixtures built-in — the four rooms hip, crisp, perfect.
We’d finished unloading the truck when the landlord came bearing chocolate chip cookies with walnuts.
The… Read more
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Girls crying wolves
The girls are on their way out. Again. Their fingers wrapped around the knob, swinging the door back and forth, waffling. Only you’ve heard the rest. The slam. The footsteps on the stairs. The engine’s race.
You don’t believe the vacillation. The fake-out of the… Read more
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