“I’m going to be just like Cinderella when I grow up.” My five-year-old niece, Keira, looked at me dreamily from across her bedroom.
On a recent visit to my sister’s home, I was assigned to my usual sleeping quarters: the girls’ room. There, I could sleep in Brynn’s bed while she bunked with Keira. The only downside to this arrangement is the presleep routine of watching fairy tale movies night after night to get the girls to fall asleep.
During this visit, Cinderella was the favorite.
It took me back to my own childhood, in which I also watched that…
My mom was all about healthy snacks but knew enough about branding not to call them “healthy snacks” so she’d just ask if we wanted “something to eat.”
A lot of our household items felt either like sentimental family heirlooms or like timeless, origin-less utilitarian practicalities that had always been there, like carbon or darkness.
The indestructible, colorless blender.
A bagel guillotine so old and reliable I never learned to use a knife.
An eternal Pyrex serving dish with five sections, four of which were like planets orbiting the Sun of the center console, designed to hold a container of…
Let me tell you a story.
Scenario: You have a public school day job of three years that almost pays all your bills so you take on an extra job as an independent contractor to make ends meet. You still have student loans from a degree that qualifies you for your slightly more-than-minimum-wage job at $1,100 per month.
June: Your primary support job at a public school ends. The next school year begins in August, but you haven’t been able to find a job yet. You’ve worked two jobs since you were 14 so you don’t think the summer will…
The light on my alarm clock slowly glows brighter, signaling it’s 5 a.m. and time for me to get out of bed. I start my morning early before anyone else in the house wakes up. This is my favorite time of day. It’s also a time when the veil between spirit and matter is at its thinnest, so I try to keep it sacred.
Today, I’ll walk the dog, feed the chickens, and drive my children to various activities. I’ll fold laundry and buy groceries. If I’m lucky, I’ll get some work done.
I’ll likely say something that pisses someone…
I go back to my room in my parents’ house and on the bed my mom has laid out a set of dance belts — tiny beige thongs I had to wear under my ballet tights as a kid, designed to support my curious and newly sentient genitals.
A name comes rushing to mind: Adrion Skot.
And I feel that tiny heat of humiliation on behalf of my current and past self, like seeing my picture in the middle school yearbook.
That’s what I insisted on calling myself in third grade: Adrion Skot. (Not, God forbid, “Adrian Scott.”)
Adventures with weird birds.
I was at this art gallery on Cape Cod and there were these huge black and white images of feathers. They were printed on this creamy-textured paper that you just wanted to rub between your fingers. I was very pregnant and the skin on my feet was pulled so taut it seemed like it would split. I sipped a berry smoothie and stared at the feathers.
They looked the opposite of how I felt. Effortlessly graceful. Simple and cool. Beautiful.
I didn’t say anything about them, but later my husband snuck back to the gallery and…
In the first week, I broke everything: a $2 plate from Daiso, which I’d loved for its spunky polka-dots. A cylindrical holder for my travel-friendly toothbrush and mini toothpaste. Finally, a precious Royal Albert mug I’d been given as a gift that spring.
I looked numbly at the elegant ceramic shards spread across the jaundiced linoleum floor—cracked pieces of beautifully printed lavender and rose, now made useless — and tried to move past my dismay.
“I couldn’t have helped it,” I murmured to myself. Every time I spread my arms, something else topples over.
I wasn’t clumsy. I was…
I am from America. One Nation, Under God. I don’t live in America anymore though. I live in far-away countries that are sometimes under God, but mostly under skies, clouds, stars, the sun, the moon, and sometimes birds.
I decided to return home after nearly a decade for a road trip — a three-thousand-mile drive with my mother and brother in a Chrysler Seabreeze from Boston, Massachusetts (where I grew up) to L.A.
Sitting in the back of a car for long stretches opens the mind up to a lot of weird thoughts. About three hours after we set out…
The NBA post-season ended in July, the Olympics came and went in August, the US Open was over before I knew it in September, so when the football season kicked off last weekend, I was thrilled. Before Covid, I could not have told you the difference between a shortstop and a running back, but as pandemic life crawled forward with no end in sight, I’ve gone from being a casual sports viewer to a total fanatic. …
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