How I like to

Come across my books of choice entirely independent of Oprah.

Sarah Palin on toast

Toasty Ebay Item

I can't believe there's thirty bidders at this point.

New Friend

Engaging her in conversation she uses her eyebrows' ups and downs and various other motions and adjustments in posture to gauge compatibility. In this way each can avoid giving offense and can then retreat before any unpleasant lines of conversation are crossed. They seal the deal with a handshake in kid gloves. A kid is just a young goat.

On a daily basis I will

conduct business over the top of my newspaper. Feel free to peer over the mottled black and white pages and peek behind headlines to procure eye contact. Make nice.

Lori and I

I realize, are in the most unique position in that our friends and relatives mix very easily and casually. We take our friends home. And when they get there they are reacquainted with great grandparents, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, second cousins once removed, full and half siblings and spouses. We are one close knit blood related lot. Our family is an extension of our personal identities. And we all "fit" into it. Into a space or role. This used to feel like a burden, but not so much anymore. Is this a relic? Something from the olden days? Turn of the century values.

When my mother was young, she and her parents and brother lived in her grandparents white farmhouse. When I was a little girl my grandparents, great aunt and uncle, greatgrandparents and second cousins all lived in one big house. One family on top of the other, living beside a funeral home. I wish I could have experienced that personally and grown up as part of one big group. Stories from that time period, have always indicated to me that those were the golden years. Especially the 1970's when snow drifts were as high as houses. Things that I was born too, too late for.

Hot Air

The dress was purchased after her deliberation in the dressing room; a turning examination of the mirror's image. Standing there with the door half open, he was there too, watching her admire herself in it. She'd just dragged him off the street and into the store; her reaction to the sight of it hanging in the window. A glance at the price had sealed the deal. $15.00. It was that too cheap to be true feeling. WAY too cheap, but it was true, and the first time she wore it out, (with him again, to a friend's party) she'd felt like a princess. Well, sort of. An urban princess at least, the paper bag kind.

Weeks later the magic was gone. The garment was a wrinkled and disheveled shell of fabric. She put it on once more and examined her reflection. There she saw it, ballooning clownishly in parts while clinging unflatteringly to others. It was a purple parachute. She was hot air.