Monthly Archives: March 2014
Physical labor drains you, and it gave me a pure, restful sleep. I awoke refreshed, renewed. Getting my hands dirty had given me release.
I just started working as a structural engineer. I am a girl. I am not a girly girl, but I certainly am a girl. Somehow, in a lot of people’s minds, those two don’t go together.
Grandpa’s tapestry of a Daoist exorcist is misunderstood. That July, I knew just enough to recognize Zhong-Kui was special and nothing more.
I may not have known anything at all about the person in the casket before the service begins. But during the hour that follows I will get to know her.
Coach and player, mentor and mentee, human being and human being. It reminds me that sports, in the end, do not matter. But also that they do.
I found myself standing across the counter from a twenty-something in a red bowling shirt last Saturday night. His name was probably Mike. He just looked like a Mike.
Anyone who has watched Harry Potter knows that the wizard doesn’t choose the wand. The wand chooses the wizard. And this is obviously the same for colleges.
I lived in a little southern Illinois town with my nose pressed against a window. I hated second grade, with its D’Nealian script, phonics dittos, and dodgeball.
“The Lord bless you and keep you.” “Honor the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.” “If you love me you will keep my commandments.”
I’ve adopted an excellent form of escapism. I’ve been reading a lot, and I’m going to tell you about a few of my recent favorites.
I have had a lot of coaches in my life, and each of them has taught me something (most have taught me more than I can remember).
And what greater grocery store is there in this universe, I ask you? Its hours of operation: endless. Its selection of salty snacks: both wide and economical.
Bob moved into our assisted living facility about five months ago. I can’t believe it was that long ago. It feels like much longer. He has scared me from the day I met him.
What good is all this technology—our GPS satellites, our naval cruisers, our sonar arrays and passport checks and aerial photographs—if it can’t produce real answers?
there’s nothing central about Zentralfriedhof (Central Cemetery). Situated in Vienna’s southeast outskirts, the cemetery is nearly a full nine kilometers from the city’s first district.
Almost on a weekly basis, students ask me how old I am. I tell myself that it’s not appropriate to talk to students about personal matters like age, so I tell them I’m forty-three.
As we resumed walking, my dad turned his head toward me with a small grin. “He asked me if he could marry you,” he said. I felt my eyebrows go up.
I hate losing things. I try really hard to stay organized because there is nothing more frustrating than losing an important scrap of paper or a sweater.
A salary is a good thing, and teaching is really pretty awesome once you get over the blank stares of students, and I’ve never actually disliked writing papers or doing research.
Jordan Belfort considers the agents (us, too, over his shoulder) as Denham produces the smoking gun: a yellow note in a clear evidence bag.
I hated saying no to people. I’m slowly getting better at it. I would have joined the Marines because I didn’t want to hurt this nice Sergeant’s feelings.
As I walk slowly and methodically through the neck-high water, my surfaced head in a thin cloud of steam, I attempt to eavesdrop on all of the conversations.
Orderly mobs with agendas of social change and economic prosperity flowed around me, people branded with “D.C. haircuts” and business casual.
Ash Wednesday is a reminder of mortality, as everyone—senior citizens and newborns alike—is reminded of an impending return to dust and ash.
In that crystalline moment, I knew that I had discovered something totally new. I glimpsed landscapes. I couldn’t speak.
And so I entered the world of woods and two-toned scarves, of strange chants (all the more daunting in French) and sleeping bags.
Suffice it to say that it’s been quite the couple of weeks for this strange, untamed corner of the Internet. A huge waste of time? You betcha. But…
All shall be well, said Julian of Norwich. Now that I’m growing up at last, somehow I’m starting to really think it will be.(Someone please smack me over the head with that paragraph the next time I start whining.)