My mother’s birthday was this past Wednesday. I had built up a fair amount of agitation about it ahead of time, anticipating that it would be a challenging day for … Continue reading Differently bad.
This whole “let them” thing.
I want to start off this post by saying that Mel Robbins seems like a lovely person who’s done great work for her own life and made a huge difference … Continue reading This whole “let them” thing.
I may be out of words for the world.
A terrible thing to consider when you’re a writer. But there it is. For years now, I’ve taught Jewish teenagers about the history and hallmarks of Antisemitism, and what to … Continue reading I may be out of words for the world.
Limits.
I’ve officially discovered a new limit for my body, and it’s depressing me. Apparently I can no longer handle the labor of love that is making eggplant parmigiana. This is … Continue reading Limits.
Seven lies (and two truths) my father told me.
In a sense, the term “lies” seems a bit strong, as for the most part, what this list entails is pretty harmless. But sugarcoating any of it by calling them … Continue reading Seven lies (and two truths) my father told me.
An ode to the Fiona dress.
My daughter has grown out of all of her princess dresses. She’d grown out of them months ago, really, but I hadn’t gotten around to pulling them from her closet … Continue reading An ode to the Fiona dress.
Buckle up, buttercup!
Are you ready for the craziest revelation I’ve had in years? I’ve discovered that, much like the secondhand smoke I inhaled around my practically chain-smoking parents for the majority of … Continue reading Buckle up, buttercup!
Angry.
I fucking hate Mother’s Day. There. I said it. My mother is a toxic narcissist who fucked my brother and I up in more ways than I can count. I’ve … Continue reading Angry.
No small thing.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d become a professional artist, at least not beyond youthful fantasies of what we want to be when we grow up. Certainly, … Continue reading No small thing.
When the grief runneth over.
Like a toppled wine glass slowly staining the Seder table, sometimes grief spills out and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Sometimes holidays are just friggin’ hard. I … Continue reading When the grief runneth over.
Journeys in the Dark 