The fall is suddenly upon us, and it is indescribably wonderful. I’ve felt this exact autumn in my bones most of my forty-one years and I could recognize it with only a handful of my senses. I remember the last ninety-plus degree day, just a short few weeks ago, and then suddenly the temperature dropped. It is still warm enough, with rich rains, sometimes violent ones. My husband kept watering our sparse tomato plants right up until last week, although I told him there was not enough summer warmth left to coax the green fruits into ripeness.
I had a difficult time during my last medical procedure; Ralph suffered while watching me vomit, and about forty eight ours of relatively intense discomfort. Any physical difficulties I have seem to be as hard on his psyche as mine; I remember immediately after the births of our children he slept like he’d been through the ordeal himself, beaten up if not physically at least emotionally. I can sleep better than my mother, but I have her vigilant patterns; never unconscious long, and up as soon as I wake, padding through the house and starting the coffee.read more
The weather may be dipping into fall but it’s still plenty warm out, the sun is still hot on my skin and the heat catches and holds in my pigtails as my sponsor and I step out of the grocery store – carrying small packets from the deli and in my case, a quaint salad roll of basil, avocado, and cucumber – and travel to her car. She’s a far-parker, like my late father. It feels delicious outside.
The salad rolls are the the last solid meal I’ll have for a while; I’m about to fast for a colonoscopy. It’s been four years since my last, but it should have been only three. After the long fast, I get to drink large quantities of energy drink laced with laxatives.read more
I met Ralph when we were seventeen, in a church. At a word from my mother I shifted and looked back to see him at the head of the aisle; his head was turned. He had a long lean body and tousled red hair and thrillingly alternative sideburns and he was easily handsome. He had expressive hands; he was a drummer. It’s rather incredible I can remember this to the day, how I felt.read more
Did you like what you’ve read? The above essay is excerpted from my upcoming publication: “HOW TO NOT F*CK UP YOUR KID (ANY MORE THAN THE WORLD F*CKS WITH THEM)” – working title. This zine improve your parenting efforts, but is also helpful to those of us who survived our childhoods!
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