And one more thing...

Exactly how old are our candidates for president? Obama made some comment about a pig wearing lipstick and aaallllll of a sudden, both sides are at it like a gender-bending version of "Mean Girls."

Obama was like, "A pig wearing lipstick."

and then McCain was all, "whatever, that's sexist."

and then Obama was like, "As if. I won't even dignify that with a comment. But here's a comment anyway."

Finally McCain ended the timely, important debate about pigs by saying, "Nah nah nah nah boo boo."

Next thing you know, Biden won't invite Palin to his birthday party.

Breathe...

Well, I have had to switch gears pretty dramatically in the past few weeks. Those lazy days of summer came to a screeching halt once September began. I will now take on the challenge of work-life balance. I never have any difficulty when one OR the other is busy. If work is slammed, then things on the weekend must be relaxed, and vice-versa. Unfortunately, sometimes life gets in the way.

Work will be busy from now until the spring, which is good because I enjoy the challenge and hate ever feeling idle or bored. But there is something going on pretty much every weekend from now until the end of the year. And though they’re all wonderful things (weddings, family reunions, anniversaries, football games, vacations), it can be a little overwhelming when you try to plan the remainder of the year out.

So, I must take the following:
1. a deep breath
2. one day at a time
3. into account how blessed I am.

I must NOT take the following:
1. Anything for granted.

(around) 28 days later

I’ve been gone. I’ll blame it on the Olympics, though that’s not really the whole of it. I just haven’t felt like writing anything, and that makes it difficult to post anything. Work is heating up again, and the end of summer makes me slightly apathetic. I need to be invigorated by crisp fall air! Pumpkins! Scary movies and blankets! Foliage! Unfortunately, Richmond has a delayed fall, but somehow, psychologically, September feels better, even if it is still 80.

Oh. And my 10-year high school reunion is this weekend. I know, I know, aging is all about perspective. At 40, looking back, I’m sure I’ll feel like I was a baby at 27. But 10 years out of high school is weird at 27, I don’t care who you are. And I am not going. I debated, but I didn’t angst over it. But I got an opportunity to get out of town with my husband and his parents, and I decided that it is more important to grab time with the people you love than revisit old times with people you don’t remember. Part of me wants to go, but I think I made the right decision, for the right reason.

It's a Mad, Mad World

"Mad Men." It's back and I couldn't be happier. I would urge anyone who hasn't gotten on this train to go out and get the first season on DVD. It's just that good, and it's not too far along that you can throw your hat in and say, "whatever, it's too late to get in on it now, and it's probably overrated anyway." It's not.

The costumes, sets, and music are spectacular. Over all, the characters are unique and complex (I'm not sure if anyone else has ever thought that the character of Pete Campbell can seem wooden at times...).

In all, watching the show is like drawing back and peeking inside a Norman Rockwell painting.

And now it's Monday

I drove 25 minutes to work and realized I forgot my laptop in the corner of my dining room. There is no backup, so I had to drive back home. And then back to work. Ah, Monday.

flash fiction

The baby cries. The baby cries and because I am in church, I cannot do what I want, which is reach out with my right hand and flick the back of the mother’s neck. Worse, she has let a one inch section of hair fall from her bun. I’d like to give that a yank, but it’s church so I kneel.

I look at the cracked wood in the pew in front of me and listen to the reading and singing, singing and chanting, chanting and talking. Now it’s quiet. I sneeze and the cotton-haired woman in front of me leans forward as if my sneeze had sent a gust of germs sweeping toward her. I had covered my mouth.

After the homily, I will have to show a Sign of Peace to the people around me. I will not want to, because the man next to me smells like cold cuts. I worry that the cotton-haired woman will think it is me.

Meant to post these awhile ago...

Published in The Hiss Quarterly (thanks, Cynthia):

Roadkill
When I saw the squirrel, it had not been dead a long time.
One arm squashed flat to the pavement, the other raised
in a posthumous salute, middle digit extended.


and...
Poppies

In the cemetery, a hill
dotted with red corn poppies.
Unknowing, I danced
under ochre leaves.

Mommy and daddy stayed for a long time.

Now I look at the stone,
weathered,
artificially ancient,
and shake the branches until
they rain fire.

He was only six.