One For The Book

My son reminded me of this story. 

It’s the first time he started a forest fire. He’s around nine or ten years old. He decides to build a campfire next to the bamboo forest in our yard. 

He thinks he put out the fire but the peat moss underneath catches fire. My husband calls me at work. “Charles started a fire in the bamboo forest.” I hang up and rush home. On the way home I ruminate that my son may grow up to be whatever bad thing they say about kids that start fires.

I pull into the driveway. The fire department is spraying down the fire. My husband is standing on the sidewalk with a stranger who is playing a bass hooked up to an amp. My husband says all cheery, “Hi. I listed this bass on Craigslist. The fire department says we’re lucky that the big pile of bamboo poles didn’t catch fire because they would have exploded.”

The stranger is playing the bass while my husband is telling the story. I’m thinking, “How is this my life? This is one for the book.”

Post-Traumatic Dental Disorder

My family visited my sister’s family last weekend. The ten of us are eating dinner at an upscale Italian restaurant in Manhattan.

After I finish my supper I feel a tiny tooth in the area where I had two teeth extracted about three weeks ago. 

My nephew is discussing the latest Coen brother movie he just saw and loved.

My sister says she thinks the Coen brothers are weird.

I say at a post several glasses of wine volume, “I’ll tell you what’s weird. There’s a tiny tooth jutting out of my gums where I had two teeth extracted.”

The majority response is “Ewww.”

I’ve got my finger in my mouth obsessed with the tiny tooth that has suddenly appeared. 

A few minutes later my sister, who is sitting at the opposite end of the table says at a mucho vino volume, “Says here bone fragments can surface after an extraction. It should resolve itself but if not go see your dentist.”

The diners nearby hate us.

My son says, “Let me see Mom.”

I open my mouth while he shines his phone flashlight into my mouth. The entire restaurant is staring at us.

We didn’t order dessert. We ordered a quick getaway.

Secret Santa

Today the office had a Christmas party. I won the cubicle decorating contest. For that I got three lottery tickets that unfortunately are not worth enough for me to retire.

After everyone opened up their Secret Santa gifts each one announced what they got and who gave it to them.

There were many bottles of wine, chocolates, gift cards, tea…

Then there’s this thing that I would not lounge around in even if I was home alone. The recipient in the photo had to smile when it was her turn to announce her gift to the group. I’m pretty sure the unspoken consensus was, “Phew, glad I didn’t get that Secret Santa.”

Afterwards she says, “Girl, what the hell is this?”




You’re Gonna Be Someone’s Bitch

An attorney I work with came back from court today. It was a hearing regarding a very naughty teenager that may have engaged in robbery and assault.

The judge says to the naughty teenager, “You’re a pretty boy. If you go to prison you’re going to be someone’s bitch.”

I’m like, “No you didn’t! Well, he’s got a point. Oh shit!”


A thick blanket of snow covers the ground.  I watch in wonder at the sprawling hemlocks and spruce beyond the lawn. The sun glistens the white branches with warmth and illumination.

A large snow bomb lands on my head. It’s cold and heavy. A reminder from the universe that all is not well. A stream of melt falls down my cheek; the tears I can no longer shed.

I turn my eyes back to the glistening sun dappled branches. I think, “Everything will be okay”.