Monthly Archives: January 2019
But when my granddaughter asks if the injustices mattered to me, my words will mean nothing unless I was there. So, we went.
This February, the Alaskan Way Viaduct will be disassembled. Trucks and cranes will shake loose the concrete foundations before an earthquake has the pleasure, and I’m beginning to realize that I will never be able to leave Seattle the way I came.
But for now, all I can think about is how out of place my Christmas trees looked when my neighbors have a cactus naturally growing in their front yard. And I will envy all y’all yanks up there.
While the film isn’t without interesting ideas—the notion of an environmental reckoning, for one—these ideas dart, glimmering and mostly unconsidered, through the nets that Aquaman reserves for its preferred but drabber game: the return of the king.
People also hate it when I’m right and they’re wrong, which happens pretty frequently.
For the past week and a half I’ve been staying at an Extended Stay Hotel in St. Louis, which was not a concept I was familiar with until I booked it.
I’m just trying to say that given what little is truly required of uncles, it follows that the bond between parent and child, when pursued in good faith, has no parallel.
This friendly man at the bar wrote the books my dad and grandpa read at the beach for years, AND he was partially responsible for our family tradition of eating dinner (and lunch, and then dinner again) at Doc Fords on Sanibel.
I know. It’s just a suitcase. OR IT’S JUST THE MAW OF THE CAVE OF WONDERS FROM ALADDIN WAITING TO EAT ME ALIVE.
The overflow of her room, and our house in general, is a result of special people who have shown up in her life already in powerful ways.
She said that God had brought us to her, that we were like her children, and that she could be like our Romanian mother.
I don’t know if you knew about the fear that permeated Toronto’s gay scene for years.
Guinness played Obi-Wan in the original Star Wars trilogy, and I stumbled giddily upon his recording of Eliot’s poems while studying them for a class at Calvin last year.
It gets late and pretty soon my brother is dancing on the kitchen stools to the songs he was making fun of earlier. We make mozzarella sticks and pigs in a blanket.
We ruined Settlers of Catan that night, which isn’t all that different from how I’ve ruined everything else these past few years.
The most interesting places felt quiet, frozen, and deeply layered.
If I were to compile a highlight reel of Caitlin Gent’s 2018, one of my Top Ten Most Important But Definitely Not Fun Moments would have to be…
When a man approached me in the mall food court and sheepishly asked if I had a few minutes to talk about Jesus, I reflexively smiled and said, “Oh, I’m already a Christian!” before realizing I wasn’t completely lying this time.
Marilynne Robinson’s debut book is lyrical, atmospheric, and completely absorbing, the “literary equivalent of a Sigur Ros song” as I tried to describe it to a friend.