REDISCOVERING SELF

The ’70s was the era of canned tuna and cottage cheese and peach slices for the calorie-conscious woman. My mom was a fan. When I was growing up, she served cottage cheese with supper, maybe five or six times a month.

I liked it fine, but once I moved out, I don’t remember ever buying curds OR whey for my tuffet. It seemed like old-people food. And my meager food budget was allocated to only the basic necessities: pasta, chicken, bagels, frozen veggies, cereal, milk, chocolate, and Diet Coke. Mostly pasta and Diet Coke, to be honest.

A curd in the hand…

A few years…

I love my mom. She’s one of the most amazing, funny, loving people I’ve ever met. Strong, cheerful, and squishy soft — a quality I savored as a child during long church services when I nestled my head into her.

At 87, she’s going strong and still making the world a better place. I’d happily celebrate her every day of the week.

But even the deep love and admiration for my mom was not enough to make me love Mother’s Day. Like many women, I spent many years wishing the holiday would fall off the calendar.

Honor or labor?

In most traditional families…

POLITICS AND RELIGION

I tuned in intermittently to a livestream of the maskless hoax-fest in Tulsa, OK, this weekend. “Health and Freedom,” they called it. The “rally-style” event was sponsored by Clay Clark, a man who prides himself on creating mass-spreader events.

I would watch for a while and snap it off when I couldn’t stomach any more. Some of what I heard:

“The government no longer has dominion over us!”

“We’re not compromising. We’re taking over!”

“It’s a sin not to vote. God is disappointed in you when you don’t vote.”

“COVID is an excuse for stealing your liberty!”

“You need to…

MICROFICTION

Skipping out the 7–11 door, Billy glanced around for Mom’s car. She was late. Again.

He slurped his frozen drink and jumped onto a parking block, pretending it was a balance beam. Arms extended, toes pointed. As he hopped off, he spied familiar green paper. Money!

He scanned the lot…no one was looking. He scooped up the cash and stuffed it into his pocket. Would he buy some candy? Put it in his new bike fund?

A familiar clunk sounded behind him. “Hurry up, Billy,” Mom called. “We need gas.”

He fingered the bill. Beaming. “I’m buying this time, Mom!”

…

POETRY

Gold sculptured carpet
concealed treacherous ‘gators; we escaped
by scampering to the top bunk.

Loud, flowered curtains
displayed scary faces at night; I pinched my
eyes closed and buried my face in the pillow.

Whispered secrets
and assurances slipped up and down the wall
in the dark.

The tiny closet
housed hand-me-down clothes: handed
from friends to you to me.

Saturday spats
cleaning our room; Mom made us face each other
and do jumping jacks until we laughed.

Our dolls
were stewardesses, attended balls, got married daily.
Forever 24…and glamorous.

One hundred square feet cultivated our dreams, our joys, our…

In my senior year of college, I worked part-time as an intern for a magazine. Proofreading keylines, writing short news items, editing letters to the editor. As my graduation date approached, the editor-in-chief approached me to offer an assistant editor position.

As an English major with few prospects, I was thrilled. Landing a job before commencement would relieve pressure. I was ready to say “yes” before I was even asked.

But when he handed me the formal offer a few days later, it was $500 less (let’s be clear…$500 less PER YEAR — this was that late ‘80s) than I…