Wild Beasts
Jumping for Joy
One of us is not tired of winter. One of us is still excited every time the door opens and the white stuff is glimpsed. One of us cannot wait to run outside, to frolic and leap with boundless abandon. One of us caused my son to do a perfect face plant in about three…
Read MoreEmerging From the Man Cave to Announce A Winner
This weekend I took my mother and my daughter to the MFA to do cultural-type things. We visited a fashion photography exhibit, saw the new Art of the Americas wing, had lunch, drooled over the John Singer Sargent portraits (my favorite painter) and then went home. It was all very civilized and lovely. In my…
Read MoreYou're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch
The Secret Word
I’ve spent a good portion of today manhandling the slobbering beast into his crate, and neither of us are best pleased. Our neighbors are having work done on their yard, and Harley is convinced the contractors mean us harm. Normally he’s very docile, but there’s something about strangers carrying heavy equipment that really makes him…
Read MoreBorders, Books, and Pirates
Yo Ho Heave Ho! Posting’s been light this week because — wait for it — I’ve been in the land of mermaid and princesses. And survived to tell the tale. (Ariel survived my eye-rolling, too.) Before our arrival and departure, I spent some time in the airport bookstores searching for my “plane book” — a…
Read MoreA Trying Day
Yesterday was a trying sort of day. I kept trying to write, but kept getting distracted. The slavering beast kept trying to remove the gutters from the house. (He succeeded, too, despite his bleeding gums.) My son kept trying to launch rockets onto inappropriate places, such as the top of the media cabinet,…
Read MoreHowling Hounds, Slavering Beasts and Prize Pick
My son and my dog are kindred spirits, separated mainly by species. They delight in causing chaos, and have a devil-may-care glint in their eyes at the most inappropriate moments. Like this: I’m frantically trying to get dressed in the 30 seconds allotted on the morning schedule when my son comes whipping into the bathroom.…
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