Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes,
Smiling right into my heart.
Oh, now where are those beautiful brown eyes,
Why must we be so far apart?*
Whenever my children want to verify that I am strange, they say, “Mom, what’s your favorite color?”
And I never disappoint them, because I always answer: “Brown. Brown is my favorite color.”
The leaves in autumn.
Bronze, the consolation prize for third-place finishers everywhere.
The eyes of my favorite people in the world.
What is there NOT to love about brown?
And, let’s just get it out of the way: Poop. …
Around this time of year I always wonder, why do we ask politicians to give our commencement addresses? Or famous athletes, or TV presenters, or authors, or successful people of any kind?
Don’t we all already spend all our lives listening to the famous and successful people telling us how to live our lives? Oprah tells us what to read, Warren Buffett tells us how to invest, Glennon Doyle tells us how to be love warriors, Elon Musk tells us, well, a lot of strange things.
Maybe the kiddies won’t want to hear it. But I say it’s time to…
Let’s get some background information out of the way.
I am not wealthy. I am also not in poverty. I am endlessly thankful for both of those things. I don’t like most wealthy people and don’t want to travel in their circles, but I desperately fear falling into poverty, most likely due to a medical bill of some kind, which is how a lot of people find themselves declaring bankruptcy.
Nobody, but nobody, does police drama quite like the Brits do.
Whether it’s because not all of their cops carry guns and therefore storylines have to be a bit more creative, or because something about the dark and quirky British sense of humor lends itself to cop stories particularly well, nobody knows.
Recently Jed Mercurio’s massively popular twisty-and-turny police drama masterpiece Line of Duty concluded its run — although its last episode was met with some harsh reviews (SPOILER ALERT AT THOSE LINKS) — but that doesn’t mean there aren’t tons of other great British police dramas to keep you…
I’m going against all the rules of SEO in these paragraphs, so please bear with me, okay?
My husband suffers from premature coronary artery disease, meaning he had a heart attack before the age of 45. He recovered well and is seeking to control the disease, but he has recently experienced the return of some worrying symptoms, so last night I did a bit of Dr. Google searching and came across this article, which terrified the shit out of me. Basically, his (our) situation is worrying. Early heart disease is bad.
Just lately in my family everyone has seemed to need to go to the doctor all the time, myself included. So in addition to all of our regular job duties, raising the kids, taking care of my mom, and trying to keep up some semblance of healthy meal-making and house maintenance, I am spending a lot of time on the phone, making appointments and asking questions.
I hate it.
And I’m not the only introvert who does.
Just tonight I was thinking about how I need to make another appointment with the vein specialist who recently ablated my varicose veins…
There are some names and phrases that, every time I hear them, I simultaneously vomit a little in my mouth, and also roll my eyes.
One is the name “Jeff Bezos.” Another is “cryptocurrency.” But the phrase I ABSOLUTELY cannot hear one more time without wanting to strangle someone is “gig economy.”
And that is because today’s “gig economy” is a total joke.
You know what the gig economy is, right? A handy introduction at Investopedia refers to it as an economy in which “large numbers of people work in part-time or temporary positions or as independent contractors.”
Last week, PS I Love You announced that they had learned from “Medium that they would be pulling their funding for PS I Love You.”
There were a lot of comments on that post, and there’s been a lot of commentary about this on Medium. Most of it has been brave and uplifting and positive and full of advice for how to move on and make the most of our writing lives in other ways from here on out.
Well, you know what? Screw that. I’m pissed, and I want Medium, and all the powers that be, to know it.
It’s May, and that means the Bridal Wreath bushes (see above) alongside my house are in bloom.
I love my Bridal Wreath. They’re an old-fashioned flower, and I fondly remember a pair of such bushes at the farmhouse where I grew up, and under which I played in the springtime. They are a bush with numerous thin but very strong branches, and they produce a short-lived white flower on tinier branches that cascade off their main stem. …
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