Author: admin

Speaking of Dead People

With all the online shopping I do for Mighty Goods, I’ve often thought about putting together a site with some of the “what were they thinking” products I come across.

The latest? LifeGems:

“The LifeGem is a certified, high-quality diamond created from the carbon of your loved one as a memorial to their unique life.”

Oh, dear.

I recognize that this might be comforting for some people, and it may not ultimately be more creepy than carrying someone’s hair around in a locket. Still, my immediate reaction is to do the heeby-jeeby dance. Glah. Glaaaaaah.

On Grief

The best parts of Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking:

“Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. Virtually everyone who has ever experienced grief mentions this phenomenon of “waves.”

“I was thinking as small children think, as if my thoughts had the power to reverse the narrative, change the outcome.”

“I found myself wondering with no sense of illogic, if it had also happened in Los Angeles. I was trying to work out what time it had been when he died, and whether it was that time yet in Los Angeles. (Was there time to go back? Could we have a different ending on Pacific Time?)”

Putting in a Window

By John Brantingham

Carpentry has a rhythm that should never
be violated. You need to move slowly,
methodically, never trying to finish early,
never even hoping that you’d be done sooner.
It’s best if you work without thought of the
end. If hurried, you end up with crooked
door joints and drafty rooms. Do not work
after you are annoyed just so the job
will be done more quickly. Stop when you
begin to curse at the wood. Putting in
a window should be a joy. You should love
the new header and the sound of
your electric screwdriver as it secures
the new beams. The only good carpenter
is the one who knows that he’s not good.
He’s afraid that he’ll ruin the whole house,
and he works slowly. It’s the same as
cooking or driving. The good cook
knows humility, and his soufflé never falls
because he is terrified that it will fall
the whole time he’s cooking. The good driver
knows that he might plow into a mother
walking her three-year old, and so watches
for them carefully. The good carpenter
knows that his beams might be weak, and a misstep
might ruin the place he loves. In the end,
you find your own pace, and you lose time.
When you started, the sun was high and now
that you’re finished, it’s dark. Tomorrow, you
might put in a door. The next day,
you’ll start on your new deck.

Oh, the Wonder

Why I avoid researching exactly what’s happening inside my body:

-The baby is excreting urine inside me.
-All babies are born with big boobs from absorbing so much of your hormones.
-Some female babies are born menstruating for the same reason.

Magical, no? Magical.

Three Odd Things

– A severed and decaying boar’s head resting on the ground — at the end of a driveway.

– A young man brushing his seat clean of smashed window glass from his driver’s side window. He is dazed and has a large, fresh cut on his temple.

– I find myself nodding furiously in agreement with Angelina Jolie, who says, “If you ask people what they’ve always wanted to do, most of them haven’t done it. That breaks my heart.”

Ed Note

OK, you know how I’ve been posting for more than six years and have never, ever posted on weekends? This NaBloPoMo schedule is really throwing me for a loop. If I inadvertently skip a weekend day out of deeply ingrained habit, please forgive me. I’ll even out the karmic debt by adding an extra post to make up for my stupitude.

Ow. My Heart.

More questionable wisdom from my baby-update newsletter. This one is from an article about things that will change once you become a mom:

“18. If you have a son, you no longer curse men. (Hooray for all men!)

19. If you have a daughter, you hope she won’t endure your same heartaches.”

Apparently, before I got pregnant I totally hated men and found that the most notable aspect of being a woman was how it made my soul ache, like, constantly.

What You Wish For

Lori is taking a Sunday adult-ballet class that she adores. Her teacher is a small, French/Japanese women with a soft voice and a thick accent.

Lori: When we put our arms above our heads she says, “Now open your hands, and let all the wishes of the world rain down upon you. Happy! Happy life!”

Me: Oh! I love that! It’s better than church.

Evany raises her arms above her head ballerina style, then furrows her brow and hunches her shoulders as though she’s carrying an immense burden.

Bryan: Man! Most of these wishes aren’t even mine!

Evany: All the world’s wishes are stressful.

Jeff: I don’t even want a pony!