I cheated. Yep. I’ll admit it. Monday, Jan. 4 was the first of a 21-day fast limiting my diet to only things that come from the ground. No meat. No dairy. Nothing “pleasurable.” That first day, after ordering a very sad chopped salad from Subway, I raced home and grabbed a handful of cookies. Continue reading
Change doesn’t normally happen all at once. The stroke of midnight that marked 2016 didn’t magically change anyone’s carriage to pumpkin or heels to glass slippers. Change happens one decision, thought, word and action at a time. I’m excited to see what the woman in the mirror looks like this time next year. Continue reading
For the first time in a year, I rode the train last night. Clad in a short sweater dress, knee high boots and thigh high fishnet stockings, I should have known better. As soon as I crossed the platform to nab a ticket, a man approached. Hs words I don’t recall: I just remember the sense of my personal space being invaded. I summoned my toughest sass and asked him to back up. He complied and began to ramble about how he wanted to know my name so he could tattoo it on his neck. Continue reading
Before I even reached the cash register, I stared at the items cradled in my arms: black leatherette lace-up gloves, golden lace gloves, suede feathered elbow bands and a ginormous bag of Pirate’s Booty I planned to devour as soon as I left the store. I’m not sold on the black gloves, I admitted before “Mommy! Mommy!” interrupted my thoughts. I glanced towards the basket where she sat. Plaits swinging, head twisting side to side with arms uplifted, her “Mommy, mommy” song continued even though her Mom stood inches away. As soon as the mom took a step or two away, her chorus resumed. Continue reading
Stolen is such a strong word. When it comes to pens, I prefer something a little less evil. Certainly the theft of a little writing utensil is on a different scale than the theft of a purse, card or car.
Especially if the owner never realizes it’s gone. I first realized I had a pen problem nearly three years ago when I was working at Paul Quinn College. Continue reading
It had vanished. I had searched every crevice of my Jetta, Dad’s Escape and Mom’s Sonata. I’d evem interrogated their resident crumbs and coins. “Where was it?” I begged of them. They donated neither clue nor alibi.
The bag itself was nothing special: Just a reformed plastic package that held the essentials of vendor life. But every screw, nut, bolt or stake that mattered was zipped inside. Continue reading
President Obama’s State of the Union Address was peppered with nuggets that could have forced a hurrah or amen from just about every American: That was the goal, wasn’t it? To give people, whether
rich, poor or middle class, LGBT, Hispanic, Black, Native American, Asian, White or as Ompa Loompa-orange as John Boehner, something to latch onto. But it’s a tall order: Serving dreamers, Selma, ISIS, free community college, free childcare, higher taxes on the wealthy, higher minimum wage and sexual liberties with a quote from the Pope to a room as polarized as oil and water sounds like a recipe for disaster. Continue reading