If we were having coffee, I’d say thank you. Thank you for meeting me at a coffee table, at the other end of a screen, on a curb, or on my couch. Thank you for reading my rambles. Thanks for the books, and the butterfly magnets and the mural. Thanks for beers, real or fake, and the ones I owe you. Thanks for the Altoids and the Beatles. Even the unsolicited advice. It makes for good material. Thanks for those…
I figured you wouldn’t want to hear about how I can’t sleep. And then I do. And then I snap awake at 4 AM, and read by Kindle-light. How Isla goes to ‘school’ two mornings a week now, and I miss her after the first hour. How there’s a path around the house now, and that’s a good thing. But how, sometimes we, (OK, mostly I) want to lift this house and the path around it and plant it somewhere…
Since we moved in we’ve had a gas leak, the washing machine won’t drain, the toaster blew a fuse. And today, the boiler has packed in. But it’s still our house. And apparently, it’s well, sensitive. So. Leave it alone. Unless you’d like to come and fix the heat. Actually, the same guy who fixed our farting stove two weeks ago is making another trip to fix the heat. Don’t worry, he knows where we live. In other news, we…
I’m writing to explain why I did not submit my story for your esteemed competition. It’s because I suck. And because I have a toddler. And because the story has only one line. ‘Whose idea was this?’ Well, mine. And I was very excited about it. Until the week I had to write the story was the one week my husband had to work in his city office. Which meant he wasn’t here to ply me with White Russians until…
Before I moved in with Neil, I lived in six apartments over five years. Several of my landlords used my rent to pay for ski trips instead of their mortgages. Because that’s a thing. Anyway, there was legal stuff that had nothing to do with me. Except I had to move a lot, and with each new place I unpacked less and less. When Neil and I met, I was down to my cat and my bookshelves. He bought me…
