Rain

Last night while a storm lashed the house, my daughter and I sat up in bed listening to the tree scrape the window and the wind rushing through the street and the sky. She asked me again why her father and I split up two years ago. She said she deserves to know more and that she’s old enough to understand better now. She is nine. I watched her face gazing out at the storm, and one corner of my mind imagined, with the usual mild hysteria, the tree outside suddenly smashing the glass in front of her. The rest of my mind worked on how to explain adult relationships to this sensitive, perceptive kid.

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A Few Good Men

There is a stop sign near our house that many people feel does not apply to them. So I am often paying special attention to those assholes who sail through that intersection. Monday through Friday, there is often a lot of traffic and the left turn lanes are full. As I was driving my kids to school this morning, a man in a large pick-up truck decided that he was more important than anyone else and that other people's safety was of no concern of his.

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The Land of the Sheep and the Wolves

I'm sure by now everyone's heard the catchy ukulele song "A bad time for men" spreading like wildfire all over facebook. It wasn't Kavanaugh that really got me thinking hard about sexual assault- it was that song. Every single thing she mentioned- being unable to wear headphones while jogging. Not using public transportation at night. Not wearing that one mini skirt. Not renting a first floor apartment. Everything she listed, I have avoided (or done very rarely) my entire life because of one thing: MEN. 

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Lyfting

So a funny thing happened this year. I retired. Without a lot of planning, I took the step. Closed a chapter. A big one. And the day I did, little nubs of life sprouted like tiny winglets. Time passed. A little more time. Settling into it, re-learning how to relax. My mother died. A little more time passed. The winglets grew. It’s funny how love for a mother mixed into caring for them, after they are gone, releases you. 

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Fingers Crossed

Sometimes I buy lottery tickets. I know it’s dumb but I do it anyway. My ex-husband calls it the “Losery.” No, that’s not why we got divorced. Back when we were married, I bought lottery tickets far more frequently—weekly, sometimes even twice a week. I can quantify just how many lottery tickets I bought because I saved them all. I hoarded these tickets because, in part, I was afraid that one of them was actually a winner—that I had somehow misread the ticket.

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