- East Lansing, Michigan,
- December 31
- I write, I read, I clean up after people and I worry about things. I have a chronic insufficiency of ironic detachment. My birthday isn't really December 31; it's March 22 but it won't let me change it.
MY RECENT POSTS
- A Spectacularly Good Griever
May 10, 2013 09:08PM
- The Tyranny of Clocks
March 04, 2013 10:19AM
- Yesterday at the Book Store
February 24, 2013 09:49AM
- Can Self Love Save this Brine
February 18, 2013 11:43AM
January 28, 2013 10:56PM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “I remember all those
posts. And what a long way you
come (!). Who
June 19, 2013 08:44AM
- “This is such a fine
piece of writing - I was
immediately, and right
June 14, 2013 09:22AM
- “Susan married an
insurance salesman in Dubuque,
immensely fat, and
June 12, 2013 08:29AM
- “I didn't know my mom was
married before she was married
father until I
May 16, 2013 06:27PM
- “Beautiful. "He was my
harsh fake Buddhist master."
April 11, 2013 11:12AM
Ann Nichols's Links
Being mindful, staying only in the moment, is both essential to me and a constant struggle. I imagine, sometimes, that I am trapped in resin, thick, translucent and golden; there is only this time and this experience. The past is visible but unreachable, and the future is obscured by tiny opaque… Read full post »
It’s not a particularly sad piece of music; it’s in a major key, and more peaceful and majestic in nature than elegiac. When I heard it tonight, though, at the end of a crime drama, played by a sweet-faced boy in a white shirt and tie, I found that tears… Read full post »
In 2007, I became a Community Organizer. It started with a photocopy stuck in the handle of the front storm door, telling us that the City planned to construct a 10-story building two blocks from our house, a building taller than any other in town besides the University’s new football stadium.… Read full post »
As I may have mentioned a time or two, we live surrounded by rental houses filled with undergraduates. At the beginning of May they leave after graduating, or merely filling their parents’ SUVs with lava lamps, microwaves, bean bag chairs and dirty laundry. As they move out, the stre… Read full post »
I am not afraid of spiders, snakes, public speaking, heights, crowds or death. I am afraid of clowns, but I am taking steps to get over that, having just last February shaken hands with a clown who attended an event I was catering. “Don’t you find that a lot of people… Read full post »
It is August. I am lying on my Marimekko bedspread in my room at home and the house is filled with the smell of ratatouille. My mother makes a huge batch every year at this time, and my parents eat it with everything and serve it at dinner parties until the… Read full post »
Went to church, praying, "Santa
Send me guidance, send me guidance,"
On my knees.
Went to church, praying, "Santa Maria,
Help me feel it, help me feel it.
And a voice from down at the bottom of my soul
Came up to the top of my head.
And the voice from down at the bottom of… Read full post »
I was banging my head. I was in a crowd of 15,000 people, feeling the bass squarely in my solar plexus and raising and lowering my head rhythmically along with the bearded stranger next to me. Two seats over, on the other side of my husband, a young girl was banging so/… Read full post »
I grew up listening to classical. There was no “pop” music aside from three or four Beatles albums stuck at the end of a row of records, and an assortment of Peter, Paul, Mary, Arlo, Woody and Pete. I heard Top 40 radio in the car with my… Read full post »
It is the consummate, diet-related cliché: “you can stop drinking, or smoking, but you can’t just stop eating.” You can, of course, stop eating; Ghandi used that strategy to magnificent effect. As a method of reaching a healthy weight, however, it’s frowned upon. What y… Read full post »
Sometimes, the universe throws something in my path with such impatient persistence that I have to stop and take a good look. It may be a “something” about my life, some integration of previously disparate elements, or a wakeup call that something is wrong in the universe outside my insul… Read full post »
The men in my family have a barber. His name is Bill, a laconic, bald gentleman able to discuss basketball, cars, and even politics with encyclopedic knowledge, gratifying interest, and no trace of offensive opinion. He has cut my father’s hair for 47 years, and my brother’s for 44; my br… Read full post »
It is always my sense that other people have a firm set of beliefs, preferences and habits while I wander alone in the bleak wasteland of flakiness. I am influenced easily, attracted to trend and fashion, susceptible to admiring and emulating the worlds of movies, books and interesting friends. I ret… Read full post »
From the time I was in nursery school until I graduated from high school, I never spent a summer in my home state of Michigan. Most summers we went to Maine, but for three summers, we headed not to the rocky, Atlantic coast, but across that ocean to Europe. The middle… Read full post »
I worry, sometimes, that I misrepresent myself in essay form as some kind of thoughtful, benevolent creature concerned only with the satisfaction of aiding my aging parents, providing home-cooked meals to the masses, and saving woodland creatures. I am inordinately fond of the cozy portrait, the tear… Read full post »
"Who am I, anyway?
Am I my resume?"
-A Chorus Line
It has recently come to our attention that in 90 days my husband may, or may not have a job. As the House Writer, I began immediately to work on resumes, cover letters, and all manner of beguiling… Read full post »
I understand how lots of things work in a practical, technological sense. I can bone a chicken, replace a faucet washer, and rig a device that will keep the dogs from opening the screen door. I was raised to be “handy,” and I’m proud of that.
I do… Read full post »
I am twenty, walking across the field to my first job as a waitress at a retirement community. The dew wets my ankles through the nylon knee-highs; I am encased in various faux fabrics from the ridiculous mustard-colored babushka to the zip-front, short-sleeved shirt and down my black-trousered legs.… Read full post »
As is often the case, a small cluster of things conspired to create a knot that I’ve picked at for a couple of days. First, I read chef Gabrielle Hamilton's thoughts on hiring people to work for her in a busy summer camp kitchen; she discarded, without consideration,… Read full post »
I grew up on stories of writers rowing tirelessly against the stream of rejection. Romantically, they died before being published, received no more than a pittance for works later deemed “classics,” or died trying to write a second novel after a glorious first. I relished the kind of stor… Read full post »