French Onion Soup
If I had to choose between a mediocre french onion soup and a meal of three corn dogs with spicy mayo, I would choose the former every time
On Spiracles and Stingray Lagoons
Spiracles. What a ridiculous name for the very thing that keeps you alive.
Make Me an Instrument
My cohort looked at me funny when I’d walk into class with my trumpet backpack case in tow and I remembered what it felt like to again be the nerdy, weird girl.
Church Shopping
There is no such thing as a perfect church.
Communal Tooth-Brushing
No performance. No personal space.
Trader Joe’s
Spoiler alert: I get lost in Meijer.
Back to the Beans
I remember the first time I had coffee that didn’t taste like sludge.
Maybe the Real Treasure Was the Friends We Didn’t Make Along the Way…
It’s not like me eating a sandwich instead of pasta on July 11, 2011, is going to diverge my entire timeline.
A Love Letter to the Grand Rapids Swing Society
I laugh with them over Codenames and Fluxx, then ask if I can join them for swing dancing the next week.
Personal Geography
Fictional characters aren’t the only ones who can’t be described without their settings.
