Monthly Archives: November 2018
If you had told thirteen-year-old Helen that in ten years she would be living in England, let alone London, I think she might have fainted in disbelief.
Why did she share her mistakes with us? Wasn’t she afraid how we might perceive her after learning about her mistakes?
He did not use grand showmanship or elaborate displays. He used simple, humble, everyday love.
One morning, after she filled my mug with coffee, and I had paid for the privilege of drinking it, she started a conversation.
I’ll admit it’s more of a mindset than a meteorological observation, but if you’re a winter-hater, might it be better in the long run to hang on to fall as long as you can?
The trouble was, though, that when I tried to imagine the stream of gold going on forever, my head would begin to thrum.
Oh, and the whole shebang is narrated by a mouse.
“What if we had never met? had broken up in college? were still dating and living apart?” one of us will ask the other.
There are things that should have changed my life, and then there are things that actually did.
I am a Slytherin. My Patronus is a cat. The reality sunk in like basilisk fangs: I am Millicent Bulstrode.
And as the saxophonist stood to our applause, I silently thanked Mr. Moore for teaching me the language of time, imbuing this Saturday night with more meaning than it could otherwise have had.
What matters here instead is the implicit challenge, the casual middle finger, that the novel tosses off at the rest of the genre.
In college, my friend Lauren was describing the physical features that she found attractive about men. She said, “I don’t know, beards are really growing on me.”
14. Whip the egg whites until “stiff peaks form,” a description that—even after over ten years of making this recipe—you still can’t confidently identify.
“Mr. Montei, who is your favorite rapper?” asked one of my high school freshman students.
The ketchup consumption in my house has dramatically increased this fall.
And if you’ve ever been so unlucky as to be served a “modernized” version of green bean casserole that calls for shallots and haricots-verts and wild mushrooms… I’m sorry.
But do we ever really comprehend what happens when we try to meet with God?
So Happy Birthday, Kendahl, and cheers to twenty-nine. This year is going to be the best one yet.
Storytime with Dr. Gladwell was the highlight of every other Monday and among the most formational aspects of my early education.
Thank you that this country is a democracy and that the universe is not.
“Good morning! There are pancakes!”
In the 15 years since electronic voting machines were first adopted by many states, numerous reports by computer scientists have shown nearly every make and model to be vulnerable to hacking.
Seeing chipped stained glass and other signs of disrepair was dismaying, but it also renewed my appreciation of how church architecture brings grandeur into public space.
Well, we both know how that worked out in the end, and suffice it to say that both of us know that I am never going back, except for with my family on Christmas and Easter. Apostate as I may be, I am not a bad daughter.
Mom made fajitas for dinner that night. I’ve never been so aware of the texture and toughness of food—I kept trying to gum it down, stubborn, spitting it out in the napkin, going again.
Let’s start in a coffee shop where a middle aged woman has just been told that there are no more blueberry muffins. She reacts badly.