Writing is like being able to put life into a snow globe. It takes the things that are too big and scary and reduces them into a form that I can put away when I want and look at from a distance. It also takes all that’s good in life and captures it into something I can take out when I want and look at close up and keep forever. It makes the bad things into something I can hold…and the good things into something I can hold onto. Both help so much that I need that little souvenir of life.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
The current one that I keep hearing is “pedophile.” When I first read the word, I looked it up. According to my beloved Webster, it is correctly pronounced with a long e: pee-duh-fahyl. And it makes sense. We take our children to the pee-dee-uh-tri-shun. Yes, “pee-duh-fahyl” sounds a bit…icky…but let’s face it, it’s an icky thing. So why am I the only person in the world who isn’t pronouncing it like the root word has something to do with feet?
Do you have a word that you keep hearing people mispronounce?
Sunday, January 13, 2013
I thought that was an interesting number. A few years ago, when my son read The Picture of Dorian Gray, and vampire books were all the rage, my children and I had a discussion about staying one age forever. My son made the assumption that, if we all had the choice to be frozen at one age for eternity, we would not only automatically snap up the chance, but we would all choose to be 18. He was shocked when I told him I adhere more to the wisdom of the beloved little Tuck Everlasting, and if forced, I wouldn't pick 18. I would choose something older, like around 32. Actually I was in my best shape ever at 37, but I did have a few Ugly Skin Things by then.
In dreams (the literal kind), I am always somewhere between about 25 and 35. How old are you in dreams? What age would you pick to stay forever if you could?
Do not fear death, but rather the unlived life. You don't have to live forever. You just have to live. And she did. ~Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Middle school paper that proves spelling counts: "The man fell off a
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
They resided on a very masculine-looking little boy.
The boy blushed with the horror of his affliction. He looked down, and the lashes seemed to curtsy.
“He cuts them!” the little girl said. The agony, the envy, the indignation and the grief were painful in her voice.
“Nooo!” I grieved with her.
They were exquisite. They looked like an ad for mascara that is supposed to transform the eyes like magic. But these were ironically naked of trickery. They were real, and they were spectacular. They were glossy, sleek, raven-black, at least ¾ of an inch long. They were as uniform as the ridges on a feather, but they swooped upward in a unanimous arc that brought to mind the unfolding wings of a magnificent black swan.
When the boy looked down (with abject embarrassment at his deformity), I half expected him to lift off his chair a bit.
One thing I love about sixth graders is that they haven’t yet learned how to hide certain feelings. Yet they are old enough to try. So in those eyes—which I only caught a glimpse of when the protective wings lifted—I saw a simultaneous war of pride and shame.
“Wow, those are....” Fortunately I caught myself in time. “Those are very handsome,” I said.
As I turned to walk away, the lashes took a modest bow.
High School Boy (while stroking fuzz on his upper lip): “Dude, when this mustache grows in all fat, I’ll look awesome.”
High School Girl (overhearing): “Dude, when that mustache grows in fat, you’ll look like one of those porn guys.”