Archive for November, 2013


November 28, 2013 Leave a comment

It’s Thanksgiving Day today. I’ve been feeling it coming for days, maybe even weeks. It’s the week before Thanksgiving, it’s the week after Thanksgiving, have a great Thanksgiving, whatever. Over the years, I even started initiating the “Have a great Thanksgiving” thing. It feels real to me to wish a happy holiday to people. It feels good.

But, even after full fifteen years in America, even after experiencing at least fifteen Thanksgiving Days (some of them alone, by choice, writing like crazy), my feelings about this holiday are pretty “superficial.” Yeah, it’s a holiday, and I even find it quite likable. It’s a moment to stop and smell the roses, that’s at least how I see it. And I like that pause that this holiday invites. It’s also about fullness – full bellies, full houses, people moving around only to come together. It’s not about cities becoming empty, like the Memorial Day is, when you look around and what you notice first are empty streets (as people rush to the beach). I like the holidays that are about emptiness, but I like the fullness of Thanksgiving as well, in a different way. Read more…


The [Damn] Alien

November 26, 2013 Leave a comment

My son always knows what he wants. Today – the black shirt with a skeleton. Tomorrow – the grey sweater. And the blue boots. And the striped leg warmers. And the green belt. And the big rabbit. And the big motorcycle that plays music. And the blue car with eyes. And the shoes with lights and not the shoes with laces. And the gummy fish, not the oatmeal raisin cookie today (I love oatmeal raisin cookies, but I don’t want any now).

Always specific. Always clear. Always certain. About what he wants.

I think that’s good. I want to support it. This ability to hear the voice inside him calling for something and to be able to read it, without editing it…That’s all good. Read more…

Harvesting Herbs

November 21, 2013 Leave a comment

It was my husband who suggested we have a garden. A vegetable garden. In the middle of a city.

It was my husband who did most of the work. I helped out a few times, fifteen minutes here, fifteen minutes there, maybe a total of two hours all summer, that was all, Andrei and I dug in the dirt, weeded, watered the tomato plants.

It is my husband who loves plants in that way, like they are people, or rather kids who require that unique combination of tenderness and deep understanding. It is my husband who has and tends to the violets on our kitchen windowsill, the same ones that I never, not one single time, remembered to water.

But last night it was me who stepped out into the garden late in the evening, after midnight, after I realized that my husband had fallen asleep while putting our son to bed. It was me who decided to save from the cold those herbs that we never got around to harvesting. Read more…

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