Monthly Archives: February 2014
Now, I’m not going to pretend that how one chooses to play a video game necessarily says anything meaningful about their personal moral character.
I try and roll out of the fetal position and into some semblance of a standing straight-back stretch, but I can’t hold the stretch for long though, because like I said, I am dying of thirst.
If Chimes were to print only Synod-sanctioned journalism, it would have become merely propaganda. That’s not what we want for our students.
I miss listening to those stories. Still, I will never again hear him begin a tale with, “Did I ever tell you about…?” Yes, Grandpa, you did. But tell me again.
Imagine every other story you’ve ever loved. Imagine reading Harry Potter with the certainty that somebody’s going to Avada Kedavra the kid any page now.
Eight years ago yesterday, I announced I was a novel writer. So February 22 is Decision to Write Day, and I bust out the cake.
A few poses after my micro-revelation, the yoga instructor said something similar. “We need to be comfortable in the uncomfortable, in yoga and in life.”
I tried to embrace my birthday by liking all heart-decorated things, making these symbolic of myself. I had a belt that was made of heart-shaped links. Things like that.
I stopped resenting hymns about the same time I decided in my heart to be a history minor. When I started studying the past, I quickly developed an involuntary joy in feeling connected to that past.
“Oh, you play fantasy football with your husband? That’s so cute!” It is not cute. It’s competitive and occasionally slightly unhealthy for our marriage.
Skaters face skull-cracking ice and flying metal blades; lugers zoom at 80 miles per hour. Hockey players lose teeth, skiers blow out knees.
The Olympics’ mythic weight translates perfectly into speed skating. Strength and finesse collide at exhilarating speeds, leaving little room for hesitation and even less for error.
“Miss, do you even love your husband anymore?” The truth is, I don’t really care about the lovey-dovey Valentine’s Day. What I do care about is our family tradition.
I’m not sure if it’s the grey skies, the bitter cold, or the profound solitude of post-college life, but She has taken residence in my thoughts once more.
Mom-I-Am. Pop-Hopper, Cat-Hatter. Roar!… I’m a dinosaur! Where’s Waldo, and why is he wandering off again? The words resign themselves to be simple for now, brown cow.
“Orpheus! what ruin hath thy frenzy wrought/On me, alas! and thee?/Dark sleep closes my swimming eyes. And now farewell:/with enormous night I am borne away.”
I’m sorry to be critical, but would you mind slapping those Christians who bookended her talk, God? Nicely, of course. Like with the power of the Holy Spirit?
I could see the red crowns of the bridge above the tree line. I couldn’t quite figure my next step. I was here. The bridge was there.
The cheerleaders sat in the bleachers and did muffled clapping and stomping routines. (The clapping was muffled on account of the mittens.)
When you are traveling with friends through rural Slovakia and your rental car gets broken into, you learn how to say “do piče.” It’s an expletive.
In case my brother dies before me, he and I have already planned his funeral. It will go, more or less, something like this:
My life didn’t become any less crazy after making spaghetti squash, just like it didn’t become any less crazy after eating ramen for lunch four days in a row.
We were servers, carrying trays of bruschetta between the tables and out onto the veranda where the sun was bright on the Lake and the bare shoulders of the bridesmaids. I was 17.
Alice also warned me that the inmates would shake our hands, wanting contact with the outside world, and when one lone student finally straggled in, he proffered his hand to both of us.
I consider the substitute’s plight to be a paradox of permanence. Our teacher is absent, the students reason, ergo, this person before us now is but a specter—or, at worst, a charlatan… POUNCE!
Somehow I have ended up eating pizza four times in the last six days. One of those was homemade with weird flour. It ended up shaped like a broccoli tree.