Pathfinding
I could see the red crowns of the bridge above the tree line. I couldn’t quite figure my next step. I was here. The bridge was there.
I could see the red crowns of the bridge above the tree line. I couldn’t quite figure my next step. I was here. The bridge was there.
The cheerleaders sat in the bleachers and did muffled clapping and stomping routines. (The clapping was muffled on account of the mittens.)
When you are traveling with friends through rural Slovakia and your rental car gets broken into, you learn how to say “do piče.” It’s an expletive.
In case my brother dies before me, he and I have already planned his funeral. It will go, more or less, something like this:
My life didn’t become any less crazy after making spaghetti squash, just like it didn’t become any less crazy after eating ramen for lunch four days in a row.
We were servers, carrying trays of bruschetta between the tables and out onto the veranda where the sun was bright on the Lake and the bare shoulders of the bridesmaids. I was 17.
Alice also warned me that the inmates would shake our hands, wanting contact with the outside world, and when one lone student finally straggled in, he proffered his hand to both of us.
I consider the substitute’s plight to be a paradox of permanence. Our teacher is absent, the students reason, ergo, this person before us now is but a specter—or, at worst, a charlatan… POUNCE!
Somehow I have ended up eating pizza four times in the last six days. One of those was homemade with weird flour. It ended up shaped like a broccoli tree.
Bill Nye worries that students won’t believe in Science because they’re too distracted by God, and Ken Ham worries that students won’t believe in God because they’re too distracted by Science.