So thank you, Gene. Thank you for making this sometimes-too-serious girl giggle. Thank you for the roaring belly laughs. Thank you for a humor that is and always will be multigenerational. Thank you for bringing my family close through your absolute silliness. Just thank you.
Everything had been just fine. I swear it. The baby was happily playing at my feet and little man was in the basement with a small horde of his extremely loud friends playing ninja Spider-Man. I finally unpacked the suitcases I’d shoved in the back of our closet. I felt accomplished, we were having a… Continue reading The Witching Hour
To the potential dismay of his teacher I will continue allowing him to color outside the lines, I may even encourage it a little. Because we cannot truly be categorized, we do not live inside a box, we do not live in black and white. We live in a wild wonderful world, complete with colors abundant, flavors to be tasted and savored.
The ground floor was occupied by a fish market. My shoes often smelled of fish water, but I couldn’t be bothered. We lived on the second floor, my roommate and I, with whom I had a falling out weeks before our return to the states, never to be reconciled. Something to do with her not liking my boyfriend.
I stand back, and in the strangest way look at my life, my children, my husband, the interaction of those around me, and the interaction of myself within those interactions. It’s all very surreal, the bigness of it, and yet the incredible smallness of it.
I have never been much of a distance runner. I don’t have long legs, endurance, or the mental fortitude required to run, run and run. In High School I wanted so badly to be a part of a team.
I looked at the dish. My hands shaking as they held the pieces. I looked at my son. As calmly as I could, looked at my husband and said “I need some time.” In my room I closed my eyes and let the tears flow. It was true. Mommy was sad.