President Biden and the Egg Carton
The invention of the egg carton is one of those delightful historical tidbits that almost begs to be symbolic.
She Wrapped Her Firstborn Son
The baby’s mother will show him how to be a joy-seeker, to soak up every drop of light.
Half-life
Eve is a bit like radium—taken from the father, who was taken from the earth. A byproduct. Twice derivative.
Milk for Fairies
In the failure of dogma, try generosity.
Free Castles
One would think rights bequeathed by the Omnipotent Ruler of the Universe would be impervious to puny, mortal attack.
Pretty, Crazy, Dead Girls and Taylor Swift
The body in the wet shroud of transparent ivory was Lizzie Siddal’s. She was a painter’s model.
The Voice in The Basement and Other Romances
The episodes are short stories, and, like short stories, they have the boldness to be small, specific, uncomfortable, or shamelessly tender.
Owned: Top Ten #CreepiestObjects in Museums
And when we’ve seen, let’s allow the waters to rush in.
Truer Than a Georgia Week
The article is from the Washington Post. Tom Hanks played the Washington Post in a movie, which means it’s credible.
“Hoink!”: A Legacy
We’ve met faithfully for Thursday Dinner for more than a year now.
Screwtape’s COVID-19 Dispatches
March 17
Virilina,
Your urgent missile of alarm last night was most unprofessional.
How to Read Auras, Astaxanthin, and Pink Noise
As an artist, the desire to be known is tied up in the desire to know. Expression and exploration are linked.
The Steward of Gondor is Dead
What is it like to have your life swallowed up in someone else’s epic?
It’s 2049: A Little Ways in the Future in a Galaxy Far, Far Away
May the Force be with you, Rey, as you go where no man has gone before.
Ban More Books! The Peril of the Unexamined Shelf
Making all good books permissible has the same ironically virtue-dulling effect as safe, didactic stories.
Haunting
I don’t believe in ghosts. I do believe that wicked work cannot be hidden.
T is for Tradition
Do you think people’ll mind if I write something that doesn’t mean anything except maybe moving, missing, and rebellion?
Lucille Bald
Have you ever noticed how intimate sitcoms are?
Heat
It’s too hot to move.
Graveyard Books and Black Dogs
I think my graveyard books may have slowly deepened by understanding of God.
Exposure: Experiments in a Confessional Instagram
Confession dwells. It sets up camp in the desert of failure and resigns itself to wandering forty minutes or forty years.
Behold the Pine Cone
Fire is a dirty thing. Petulant, wild, prone to fits.
Technology for the Real World
Technology really is a sticky wicket, or sticky widget I suppose, particularly if we are referring to classroom computers.
Put Out the Oven Fire: Practical Advice for When Your World is Ending
I promise, I will tell the story about the two-foot flames licking at the burners when I cracked open the oven door.
Excuses for Picking Pockets
And Christmas is a holiday of obligation.
21 a Space Odyssey: A Few Non-Alcoholic Thoughts on Star Trek Among Other Things
There are things that should have changed my life, and then there are things that actually did.
I Am Not Myself Tomorrow
Free-Spirit Emily: (Scrolling through Anthropologie’s still impossibly expensive “sale” category) Oh believe me, you can. Remember the computer we never updated? We had it for years.
This Old House: Things I Learned Time Traveling
It is in the repetitive ritual of opening and closing the house each day—unrolling the broken shade by hand, wrestling with the deadbolt on the warped front door, seeing age—that I find inexplicable revelations.
