Caring for Turds, Caring for Therese.

Pioneers used buffalo turds for fire fuel, y’know. They had too, there’s long stretches of treeless-ness in the middle of America. But “buffalo chips” are Nature’s Duraflame logs. Grass digested, compacted, dried by sun with a spark friendly infusement of methane perhaps…the words of one pioneer diarist I’ve read said “You might think it unpleasant,…

How bout Pastyflabbyneck?

  “Redneck.” My daughter asked me what it meant. I’d never been asked that before. And I’d never known the answer til I said it. “It’s a derogatory slur for the poor and working class.” It’s a word for someone who likes different music than you do. It’s a word for people who couldn’t or…

The American Talisman

I have a deep abiding love for convenience stores. They are clean and succinct. They don’t require anything extra of me, neither bra nor brush, conversation or confrontation. They give me protein, caffeine, and those pillowy  “Bon Appetit” cream danishes that can set the worst of worlds to rights. There are lots of convenience stores…

We Are Teal

Barb and Mr. Barb (in two years, I’ve never heard his name) have been good neighbors. They made peace with our dogs and children and the constant brutal cacophony of “memories being made” and “vengeance being wrought on the weak” that comes constantly from our side of the fence. Mr. Barb doesn’t talk except the…

This is where it hurts.

And don’t we all have our gashes. That wound that is just yours, in your secret tender spot. 100 people, poked in that particular place, might wince, might slap away a tiny sting in irritation. But you, you can’t stand even the thinnest chafe, the warmest puff of wind. The nerves are inflamed, torn muscles…

Pride, Porkers, Porches. Please.

It’s not a “bucket list.”  It’s my Rockstar Dreams. The fantasies I lived inside as a kid, clear into my twenties. I lived inside my head and though the rest of my self suffered for it, my health, my relationships, my strength of character, the interior of my skull was nourished and rich. I wanted…

Invictus

This isn’t a New Year’s Resolution. This is what is whispered alone, only to yourself, when you’ve washed up on a strange but solid shore, chest heaving, frightened, shocked, but still alive. You’re alive. You’re going to need to fight to stay that way.  Not vague, namby pamby promises. No. You are precisely aware of…