This is not a hero’s story. Each day is a riddle I don’t get lately. I’m working pretty much full time now. The world news is mostly horrifying. The past four weeks have been punctuated by report after report of health catastrophe, decline, and concern for family and friends. Stress is high, emotions are complicated, and I can’t get one of the timed Christmas lights in my village to come on. It’s supposed to be automatic. All the other ones work, but the church insists on being manually turned on and off. * Each day is a mystery to Lady Wilhelmina DeCoursy. There’s no plan of attack other than ..read more

I found a Ziplock bag in a purse I hadn’t used in a long while. It had two baby teeth in it. It must have been from when we were moving back to the US, when our lives were chaos, and I needed somewhere “safe” to put them. When I see my eight year old with his enormous two front teeth and his still-soft round cheeks, I want to squeeze him. Which he hates. I love little kids and their jacked up teeth– all new and crowded with energetic growth and no discernable plan. I both love and am supremely weirded out by Queen Victoria and others who had jewelry made from their babies’ milk teeth. Sometime ..read more

Many of the following reports are taken directly from notes left to teachers by Substitute Lady Wilhelmina DeCoursey When last we left our heroine, she was juggling ER visits, dodging extra-curricular activities like a warhorse, and lamenting her lost creative time. Today we find her consistently ignored by literary agents, nearing completion of a new project’s third unsatisfying draft, having had a needle inserted directly into her eyelid, and exiting the medical facility sporting a visage akin to that of the dramatic loser of a tavern brawl. This is not the worst day of her week. “Dear Ms ..read more

So there I was, sitting in the ER at midnight, for the second time in a month, coughing like I smoke four packs a day, voice like Morgan Freeman, and partially blind in one eye. I was not the patient. I am never the patient. * My husband left last week for a much -needed trip to see his family. He took the new vehicle and I didn’t object. No one wants a stranded or wrecked husband, or a broken down car on an unknown highway. One has had both before. One is not interested in doing either again. Go! Go! Take the good car; it’s peace of mind for me! One less thing to worry about. And having the l ..read more

(with excerpts from my essay in the forthcoming Meeting Anne Bronte) The ordeal is over! We’ve returned to the States! Finally home! The relief! The joy! The abundance! The… is that a cascade of blood flowing down Auggie’s face and chest? Yes. Yes, it is. It took an entire week before one of us saw the emergency room. It’s what we do– move to a new place, get a kidney stone, require immediate spinal surgery, blow out a knee, etc. This time it was minor head trauma requiring four staples and resulting in a new nick name for the triumphant recipient, Staples. A little on the nose, but whatever ..read more

POSN Three years ago I sat in an empty house at a card table on a folding chair, having just turned 40, and making a tiny book out of garbage. (Like ya do.) I didn’t think anything about being 40, mostly because everything was much that same as when I was 30. These foolish vain women, I thought. What’s the big deal? It’s just a number. In Which I Eat Cake Whilst Thin, Blonde, and Oblivious I’m 43 now, and to all those women who tried to warn me: I apologize. You were right. It’s all different. * Always a sucker for an epistolary tale or diary, I read Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Bring Me a Unicorn ..read more

My eye has been twitching for over a month. The first winter, I saw two swans in the sheep field. I’d never seen swans in a field. Swans are supposed to be in lakes and picturesque rivers with waterwheels. How weird. Imposter crows? Poser seagulls? Seagulls in the Midlands I don’t get either. But swans in a barley field? Poor confused giant-ass birds… Causes of Eye Twitching: fatigue, stress, irritation, caffeine, light sensitivity, etc I ended up writing a lot about birds and confusion last year. Two owls died on my property; pheasants dart across the road; crows and sea gulls swoop and cry a ..read more

Hey guys, what do you want to play? My kids ask this when homework is done, while getting out of the car after church, waking up after their sleepover, and from still inside the bathroom washing hands– Guys, what do you want to play? I remember, from a thousand years ago when I was a child, playing meant the cure for boredom, distraction from stress, a way to process the glory of a movie I’d just seen, — and that was by myself. Playing with other kids was an option too, of course. No guarantees their imagination graphics were as good as mine though I love when the Pevensies get bored because i ..read more

A Festive Trip Inside The Crow Emporium THIS IS NOT A PAID FOR POST. I BUY ITEMS WITH MY OWN MONEY ENSURING THAT I CAN GIVE AN #HONESTREVIEW. As the … Christmas Gifts for the Literature Lover ..read more

So there I was, after 3 fast food meals, 7 days away from home, and 12 hours on the road, scrubbing owl poop from every carpet, tile, couch, pillow, book, table, counter, and LEGO in my house. My kitchen smells like a pet store. This owl’s Santa game sucked. My living room smells like an Arby’s parking lot. This is not how I wanted to come home. Of course, I was sad about the small beautiful bird carried out on a child’s shovel. The soft feathered back. The weighted head. The face I couldn’t bring myself to look at. My bedroom smells like Miss Havisham’s wedding reception. I was pissed at this ..read more