Once upon a time, there was a first grade girl whose parents could go from outwardly calm to nuclear in fractions of seconds too small to count.
She lived in a state of nearly perpetual distress, never knowing when her parents might blow up at each other, or her. Never knowing when they might take out their anger on each other, or her. Never knowing when some small misstep on her part might yield terrifying consequences.
She found small salvation in the form of a device her father called a “computer.” On this computer, she could play the games SCUBA Venture and Facemaker by herself, or with only her younger sister nearby. Unlike people, the computer yielded predictable results, so that the little girl felt safe and comfortable when she sat at its keyboard and told the computer what to do by simple sequences of keystrokes.
Her very, very favorite thing to do at the computer was play a game called King’s Quest. The game was better than predictable. It was exciting. She could use her letters and words to explore a whole new world in which she was the potential hero, not a sad, scared little kid. Read more…
Eighteen years ago today, my nineteen-year-old self wrote a “public journal” entry she clearly meant to be her last.
While I don’t like posting more than once daily now, this particular entry made me smile. It’s worth posting now, even if it is my second post today.
Exhibitionistic? I’ve heard that many times since! Touching? I’ve heard that many times since, too, such that I’m very, very glad the below was not indeed my final blog.
Do you believe in the power of positive thinking?
Do you believe that if you wish something hard enough, and will it, and act as if it will happen, you will bring it into being?
You, my friend, are part of Donald Trump’s presidential candidate success.
A couple of weeks ago, I attended a conference for work. Read more…
About a month ago, my friend Ra texted me something that’s been on my mind since.
She said there was a Saturday evening aerobics class in prison. People who attended didn’t necessarily go because they wanted to do aerobics, but because they wanted to see other people. They wanted to be somewhere with someone, or many someones, with whom they had some kind of kinship …
… without having to seek or arrange a time and place.
When I lived in Japan, I was mobbed with hugs daily.
Those hugs were the tiny-armed hugs of the tiny-armed people I taught. I cherished those hugs, but I felt more and more starved by the day for hugs from adults: people who saw me as I truly was and loved me all the same.
I thought of myself as hug-starved, and I was.
Since having my second son two years ago, I have become so much more a hermit than ever before. Read more…
with my sister
i told her
how i learned
our mom had cancer
right before i boarded
the train to
when i drive
one stretch of
talking to my mom
while looking out
at the ocean
so vast and
(wider than the ocean)
it felt to know
we would not
talking with madeline,
i reached that stretch
like my mom
and my godfather,
and my grandpa g
wrapped parts of
their love into me
and i feel them
(not the loss of their bodies)
in these moments:
the warmth of love
wrapped around me,
a cocoon of forever,
the duration of love
This morning, I meant to write a scintillating post pointing you over to my interview at Anxious Mom‘s today.
Thirteen hours of work, commute, and general shuffling later, my six-year-old is hollering his way around the homestead while my toddler chucks trains from his favorite seat on the sofa. My husband is using some of his character voices, which irritate the six-year-old mightily, in order to coerce said six-year-old into completing his homework.
(“I’m talking like this until you finish your homework!”
“I don’t like that tone!”
“That’s not a tone. This is a tone, and I’ll keep using it until you get out of your brother’s stroller!”)
All of this fits in really well with my answer to her book-title question, which you can read over on her blog. When you’re done reading that, please check out her posts, which are a delightful mix of introspection, giggleworthy anecdotes, and nerdiness. (This extended into our email exchange in ways that
made make me grin. Yesss!)
I think maybe tonight’s a night where I just say, well, exactly what I’ve already said, and accept absence of scintillatingness. Scintilatosity? While neither of these words are close to right, I think you catch my drift.
On Tuesday, I landed in New Orleans.
I was greeted there by a good friend I’d never yet met in person.
(That happens with blogging. When you’ve already met in heart and mind, the physical meeting isn’t really the first meeting.)
Lisha picked me up outside the airport. We chatted comfortably as she took me on a two-hour tour of her beloved city.