Pop quiz: how many song lyrics and/or titles appear in this column?
Mr. OtherSuch has yet to give me the answer. Pretty sure every time he starts reading he is so quickly absorbed in reflexive singing that his counter short-circuits.
There is a definitive answer though . . . .
. . . → Read More: It’s Your Love (and Your Move), Mr. Slawson (OS:S in the E-T on the 01/05/14)
The only one who could ever reach me, was the son of a roofer man . . . .
I married the son of a roofer man.
Some elevenish years ago, as I was finishing up law school and making big-city plans in my head, my father-in-law . . . → Read More: We, The Juxtaposed
Preface: I love him despite conversations like this. Also because of conversations like this. Also because he doesn’t care that I publish them. Also just because.
(click image to enlarge)
Acknowledgement: Without him, I would have substantially less writing material. And laughter. And, well . . .
. . . → Read More: Nothing Ends a Debate Like ‘Skinny’ (OS:S in the ET on the 09/01/13)
This right here?
This is my life.
They are my greatest loves.
In the early morning hours, I lay awake making lists of the things I need to do for my family or our businesses during the day; marveling at the chronology . . . → Read More: The Nuthouse, in a Nutshell
Sixteen years ago, in 1997, we did this: We were babies. Twenty-three and twenty. Babies.
We had no idea that we had no idea what we were doing.
We had love.
And figured that was enough.
* * * * *
One month later, we crammed everything we owned, plus two cats, in the smallest . . . → Read More: Sixteen Years of Enough
Baby, the one who’s almost-but-not-quite-fully-cooked, has simple needs. Right now.
Us other people, the ones who are almost-but-not-quite-fully-ready for baby, have simple needs, too.
One: a nickname.
Once I got over the hump of being afraid to actively think about baby, I quickly moved into needing to . . . → Read More: Baxter’s Berth (You know: Baxter!!!)
From a basket of yellow onions, I recently pulled out this surprise.
“Would you look at this? It’s alive!” I told Mr. Goodbar.
“I thought you were letting it do that on purpose,” said he.
Ignoring his completely implausible suggestion that he had noticed something (anything) unusual (or not) around here, I instead considered . . . → Read More: Hush Man, You’ll Frighten It
I once was bashful about All Things Stirrups. You know, way back Once Upon a Time.
But then, in order to partake in The In/Fertility Smorgasbord I had to get over that shyness. So I put my big girl silly socks on (the big girl drawers being antithetical and all) and . . . → Read More: “Sonogenic,” she said of The Ute
Sometimes in between the writing and the submitting, Mr. Goodbar reads over the monthly newspaper columns.
When he does, the process is generally one of: reading, head-shaking, re-reading, and then pushing back from the desk combined with a final round of head-shaking.
Last month, in . . . → Read More: Trial by Motherhood (OS:S in the E-T on the 01/06/13)
This column was published on Sunday, December 2nd.
On the Monday after this column ran, Mr. Goodbar apparently received a little prodding (heckling?) from some of the retired gentlemen he coffees and golfs with at the golf course.
By Tuesday afternoon, he had cleaned out the ash dump under our . . . → Read More: Toasty Toes by Tuesday (OS:S in the E-T on the 12/02/12)