Some Mini-Stories

In Which I Should Be More Grateful For Some Things, But I'm Not (Always)


KIDS, Sometimes
When I ran into Lauren we had a similar story. We're at that stage of life where it feels like our parents are aging really rapidly and our kids are on the slow boat to adulthood, so it's easy for us to commiserate.

Both of us had kids who had been sick recently.

"When I was taking care of him there were times when I wanted to hold him in my arms and rock him like a baby and times when I wanted to kill him," I told Lauren.

"Yup," she said.


GROCERY STORES, Especially at Thanksgiving
The stores are enormous but the aisles aren't wide enough to fit two carts at the same time. It requires all kinds of concessions and most people aren't in a concession-making mood. Mostly people in grocery stores are overwhelmed by the list their wife made and that terrible grocery store reality that just when you've made it all the way to one side and think you're in the clear and can get the hell out of there, you realize you've forgotten the celery and you have to go back to the very beginning.

Also, they make people angry. I heard this exchange between what I think were sisters in the Whole Foods in Reno the other day:

There will be 17 of us for 4 days, that's 68 eggs, Judy. (Jesus that's good math, I thought.)
Well I could get five cartons and then a half. They have half cartons of eggs, you know.
No, Judy. No. There won't be any half cartons.


Last night I dreamt that I took a brush out of a drawer and brushed my hair. It was a beautiful brush, made of wood, with long, black bristles and when I used it my hair became luxurious, soft. Perfect, really. It was perfect hair.

In reality my hair is an underachiever in the turning-grey department. I keep hoping it will move a little faster, I love grey hair and that look, with a jean shirt and some turquoise, is so sexy. I want the grey hair, but it doesn't want me. Also, I think my hair is thinning a bit and, because I got all bold and cut it short last winter, it's a terrible length now, neither here nor there. I look at it every day and sigh. 


"Don't you feel so much better?" the girl behind the counter gushed at me after I told her I couldn't eat anything with gluten in it anymore.

Sitting inside the counter were flaky croissants and blueberry muffins and loaves of warm bread and tiny, adorable cakes and cheese danishes. A world of fresh-baked delights I couldn't eat.

"No, I said, I don't feel any better. I'm mostly consumed with anger."


I fumble around a lot because I can't see anything without glasses anymore, even though they're just readers and not meant to do the heavy lifting of vision. It's dark out because of the time change thing that no one, and I mean no one understands. Should I have tea or coffee? What is wrong with me that I can't just choose one and stick with it? I don't really want tea or coffee in the early cold of this dark house, what I really want is to be still sleeping in my warm and cozy bed. 


Have a beautiful Thanksgiving, kind readers. I love each one of you, completely.