22 Jan
Me, aloud, on the car ride home: I argued the word “miraculous” off the front page today.
Me, pretending to be someone else, in my skull: Why?
Me, aloud: Because it’s not the fucking 700 Club.
As the pickers rifle through dusty junk in dilapidated barns with corrugated metal roofs, I see an entire way of life that has all but evaporated.
Hi Neighbor, Just a friendly request to PLEASE PUT THOSE LEAVES BACK ON THE TREES WHERE THEY BELONG, AND STOP LEAVING THEM ON THE CURB.
As I watched my mom look over the orchestra of plants she had been nursing for years and years, choosing which ones to pass on to me, I realized that she is passing a torch to me.
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