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My mother recently read a blog post of mine which alluded to my making out with a boy in the front seat of my car. Then this conversation happened:
My Mother: You know, no one has to marry you if you just go and give it all away.
Me: Mom, I don't think I want anyone to feel like they have to marry me.
MM: (Pause.) (Long pause.) (Longer pause.) Hm.
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Lord help us all if I ever make it to the backseat.
My grandmother had a dream. She recounted it to me.
Under the spell of night, she had reunited slash rekindled things with her high school sweetheart - and he was looking good, if you know what I mean.
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Moving right along.
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My grandma led me through the tender garden of her (re-) blossoming romance; I compared it to my orchid that I thought was dead, but now appears to be alive, thanks to a little hot glue and a carefully regimented amount of sunshine; she looked at me like I was a stranger, and then finished her love story.
At the end, we both sat in sweetly contemplative silence, until she suddenly straightened her back, shook the wanderlust from her eyes, blinked the flush straight out of her cheeks, and exclaimed, “But then I thought, what do I want with a boyfriend?! I’m 81 years old!”
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Uh, yeah. You’re also MARRIED, Grandma.
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More contemplative silence. Slightly less sweet.
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Kids these days.
Down on my grandpa's farm, man’s best friend and nature’s boldest scavenger went ‘round in circles and ellipses in this fight to the…point where the humans got bored and walked away.
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Delicate little kittens.
I love writing dinosaur books, and I am not afraid to shout it from the rooftops. Also, here's all my contact information, in case you want to stalk me.
These are the two responsible for all of this: