My father is a beekeeper.
I’ve just released Peter Parker from his leash. His little terrier legs are running free at the dog park. Four year old Cole isn’t racing after his best friend like he usually does; instead he’s doing some awkward sort of calisthenics. I’ve seen this dance before.
“Why didn’t you go before we left the house? There’s no bathroom here.”
“I have to pee Mom!” If it wasn’t abundantly clear, now he’s grasping at his crotch in addition to bouncing around. I have an urge to cross my own legs and hope he doesn’t injure himself.
A single mother lived upstairs with her seven-year-old son. I was a guest for the week in my friends’ new second-floor apartment in a sunny three-unit house. They hadn’t seen much of their neighbor, they told me, but they’d heard her. Screams, threats, curses, relentless wrath against her child. They laughed about it. She’d had the baby at seventeen; it was a hard life. A lot of times the son screamed back.
The surgeon wanted to make a standing date for more super annoying cancer treatments every Friday for the rest of the month.
I went "Uh. . . no."
He was surprised - who turns down such exciting offers?
I shrugged. "I'll be out of the country."
The plan was even (to my not so secret delight) a direct challenge to the whole notion of cancer, because I jetted away toward that dazzling forbidden treat: sunlight.
this comes to me via twitter. i don't know this woman, i just watched the video and hoped she would get what she needed, and it seemed to fit right in line with what we do right here.
i love kickstarter. if you're not familiar with what they do, it's DIY fundraising, essentially. you need not apply for grants or loans from large organizations for your projects, art or otherwise. you can drum up support from real people who will - based on what you're doing - want for you to succeed. people pledge to donate, there is no minimum donation.
I was talking to an old friend about a mutual acquaintance who stopped talking to me about ten years ago. She asked what happened between us, and I shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "I didn't do anything, so I can't comment."
There was a disbelieving double take. "You don't know what happened?"
"I was't around, I wasn't there. I was literally not in the country."
More probing, more shrugging. I said "I didn't steal her money, kick her dog, or fuck her boyfriend. Though I could have, I resisted. Therefore, I did nothing wrong."
The shit about getting older is not that you get tired at four in the afternoon, or that your face starts to look like it’s melting, or that you can’t remember what you knew five minutes ago, or that you work out five days a week just to look like the very worst version you imagined yourself at when you were twenty five, or the eyes that you used to be able to thread a needle in the dark with, now need reading glasses to see your own face in the mirror. Or when you check out a cute random guy you realize you’re about twenty five years older than that person and you are now that old perv, or… I could go on and on but you get the point.
The weekend my daughter turned three I was at loose ends - she wanted to hang out with her grandparents, leaving me stranded in a small college town without any idea of how to entertain myself.
School was closed, there were no shows on, and I didn't want to see what was playing at the dollar theatre. I was bored, lonely, angry, and twenty-two years old. Without any discernible thought or planning I did something reckless and completely normal: I hooked up with an ex-housemate.
When my daughter was born, my younger brother and his girlfriend came to visit me in the hospital the very next day, traveling from Washington D.C., where they lived, to New Haven. I’d had an unexpected C-section and when they got there they asked me if there was anything I needed. I casually mentioned that a magazine or two might be nice as I had several days in the hospital ahead.