February 6, 2019 | Nonfiction
The Friday after the sexual assault hearing of future Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh, when we were all wondering if it mattered anymore what anyone said or did, I drove with a group of guys up into the Colorado mountains.
I took to wearing your ring again because everybody likes dealing with a woman who’s married. They want a winner.
The great thing about Betty and Rosalynn Carter working together was showing the world how to find common ground even when coming from different political stances. We could use a lot more of that right now.
Many a novel today is a screenplay with feelings.
When we were five or six, well before that shot, we walked together in those woods. It was fall and we had just touched, for the first time that I can remember, in his room, under blankets. They were either 101 Dalmatians or Power Rangers-themed
I want Paula to feel the pain I’ve felt, the pain of being left behind, and not by someone who has died, which would be less painful, in my opinion. Because when someone leaves you in life, they’re still out there; they just have a new life you’re not a part of.
I’m a white middle-aged mom driving through a mainly white college town listening to a now-dead Jewish hip-hop artist whose video for “Self-Care,” released right around the time of his death featured him trapped in a coffin. I’m older now than I’ve ever been. Obviously. Who cares.