Krispy Kreme was a whim. I was ready to cocoon in my hotel room with a piece of writing that’s eluding me. Maybe, with no distractions, I could finally coax it out. I was really too full for a donut. I’d just eaten dinner, which featured thick steak fries, with a light brown crisp around... Continue Reading →
I made a new friend. At work. Because owning a bookstore means my new friends come to me. I’m lucky that way. Anyway, this new friend, she’s smart. And a lot silly. She likes books. And she wears cooler clothes than me, which I find funky, inspiring, and (surprisingly) not threatening. She’s younger than me,... Continue Reading →
I am attached to the lie about why I didn't get my PhD. It's a pet lie. In my head it looks something like this: And it's more comfortable than the truth, which stings a little and is, well, embarrassing--as truths can sometimes be. The lie goes like this: I'd reached a point in my... Continue Reading →
If my goal is to be an antiracist—not just as a badge I stick on my person for a nod & a smile from other white liberals but as a way of being that goes to the core not only of my actions but my beliefs and my ideas/thoughts—I’m going to be wrong a lot. A whole hell of a lot.
I peered warily down at my thighs oozing across the chair like pancake batter across a hot griddle. Gross. I glanced surreptitiously at the other girls sitting close to me. Their thighs behaved. Why did mine take up so much space? I lifted them up off the chair just a tiny bit, making them smaller.... Continue Reading →
I'm a pretty shitty feminist. I don't ground my writing in feminism because I'm deeply afraid of doing the whole thing wrong. Like I'm not academic enough. I don't see the stamp of patriarchy & oppression in places where it's so obvious to other feminists. But, look, I'm 45 years old. And I'm focused on... Continue Reading →
Sunday morning, the (almost) 10 year old and I puttered about the kitchen. As coffee flowed freely from its pot into my waiting mug, I heard a tentative "Mommy?" I looked up at my child who was peering at me with a look of concern (and maybe a little gentle reproach). "Um... I think you... Continue Reading →
My first boyfriend's name was Jon Robinson. We were 8 years old. He was cute, best I remember. And pretty nice. Nice enough to inform me that no, you couldn't get pregnant just from kissing. Apparently, I'd snuck too many episodes of Days of Our Lives, where the timeline between lots of kissing and having... Continue Reading →
When I was a kid, being a woman seemed like some sort of secret, mystical state that one entered into when they were, say, 16 or 17. Like maybe I'd go to sleep an awkward adolescent kid and wake up graceful, beautiful, and smelling like Estee Lauder Youth Dew. Who really knew how it would... Continue Reading →
I want to control the narrative that my kid receives about sex. And I CERTAINLY don't want her friends explaining it to her...
