24/7

In a previous post , I mentioned a letter I wrote to The Partner to be read on the eve of Y2K--pre-graduation, pre-wedded bliss, pre-baby, pre-wedded non-bliss. A commenter who just might be sorry she asked expressed a desire to know more about this message. Because I love to accomodate the faithful, I will post the text of the letter in its entirety. Please excuse the un-honed grammar, faulty logic, and any and all references to sequoias as metaphors for the enormity of my love. I won't change anything, as much as it pains me. Here’s a little millennium message for you. I’m going to conveniently disregard the fact that this new year doesn’t technically herald the dawning of the new millennium. There’s still something momentous about moving into a whole new set of numbers, like when the odometer in a car turns over form 99,000 to 100,000. I mean, that’s exciting—does it really matter if the countdown began at zero or one? I’m too impatient to put off all the millennium-related part...

My family does not know about my blog. The secret was not threatened until TrueBlue came along. A case of the blueberry juice arrived at my door after I was approached about the possibility of reviewing it on my blog. As a sucker when it comes to free stuff, and with a daughter who's a sucker of juice, I was more than amenable to the idea. Tearing into the case upon its arrival, I stored one bottle in the refrigerator (per the kind gentleman's suggestion to let it chill before drinking) and left the rest of the case in a corner of the kitchen. Over the next few days, members of my household became well acquainted with the virtues of blueberries in liquid form. The Partner drank it undiluted. The Boss got a half and half mix of blueberry juice and water. When she went to bed, I drank mine with vodka. TrueBlue was a hit. Then Easter came, and along with it, extended family. The case of TrueBlue remained in its corner, a little more than half full. That's when I made the mist...

It was sunny out, which was strange in itself. There was little context against which to compare the brightness after so many months of winter. Odder still was the fact that The Partner was standing on the edge of our property, staring at the roof of our house. He held a hand-visor to his forehead, the shadow falling in a rectangle over two scrutinizing eyes. I watched him from the doorway until his thoughtful confusion conveyed to my own raised eyebrows. "What are you doing?" I asked him. I stepped outside. There was a towel wrapped around my just-showered head. "I think I've developed a fear of heights." I'm sure his balls shriveled into themselves just a little bit as he said it. He fancies himself a man's man, afraid of nothing. Able to jump tall buildings in a single bound, repairing faulty chimney construction mid-leap. "I can't make that step from the ladder to the roof." He shook his head. "I stood up on the final rung for five...

"We have lost the sense of peace that comes with learning." ~ Zenobia Hikes, Virginia Tech's vice president of student affairs My four breathtaking years in the blue ridges of Virginia were colored by freedom and discovery. They were infused with low mountain air recycled in the exhale of less than a thousand women undergraduates at one of the last remaining estrogen strongholds in the south. On that insulated campus, some found peace. Some found themselves. Some, like me, found a piece of themselves that they would only come to understand later. But almost all of us felt safe to search. The following is a message from my alma mater, Hollins University , in Roanoke, Virginia: Hollins University joins colleges and universities across the nation and around the world in extending our thoughts and prayers to the students, faculty and staff of Virginia Tech, and in expressing our deepest condolences to the loved ones of those killed or injured during the horrific events of A...

Apparently, I should be more specific when I talk about my desire to sell this house. What I need to be saying is: "I'd really like to sell my home to someone who does not plan to take 200+ years of history and feed it to a wrecking ball." Yes, we have someone interested in our property. He's a developer looking to take advantage of the fact that the lot is zoned commercial in an area undergoing a booming business transformation. Down the street, a big-box shopping center is under construction. The highway, visible from our property and with an exit less than half a mile down the road, oozes potential profit. Our house is currently not used in any commercial capacity. We just live there. It was built at the tail end of the 18th century and is filled with well-preserved nods to history. Its tie to the past extends to the appellation of our section of town, which comes from the family name of the home's first inhabitants. Though the house is not registered in any na...

I woke up this morning as wordless as the day before. I watched the news. I unfolded the newspaper. Sentiments swirled. Then dark, tiny print gave way to the color of the comic section. The Family Circus cartoon of the day featured Dolly, with pencil in hand and and two neat pages of letters spread out before her. Her mouth was an oval of concern as she spoke these words: "I know all my letters. Now, how do I line 'em up to say something?" Dolly, that's exactly what I want to know.

Jen , from one plus two , has some questions. I have some answers. Join us for the convergence. Jen: How do you define The American Dream? Me: Like this... American Dream. Pronunciation: &-'mer-&-k&n, 'drEmFunction: noun 1. A series of thoughts, images, or emotions occuring during wakefulness and sleep that is colored by the United States of America's ever-changing skies, unending landscapes and the short, shared history of our own making. 2. A strongly desired goal or purpose made attainable in the United States of America by those who've come before and secured by those who stay on. 3. A belief in change, and one's power to effect it. Jen: Describe your perfect five course meal, and the perfect place to eat it. Me: I've already had the perfect five course meal, at a French restaurant I remember mostly in white light refected off the glass of chandeliers and wine goblets. I was there to celebrate the 95th birthday of The Partner's grandmother. H...