There is frost on the fields. Frost on the fields, hard frost on the grass, each blade bowed, silver-white ( Read more... )

1. I really, truly, deeply resent the way that the seemingly endless electoral campaign to the south has raised questions about women: what they're like, what they want, and what they are allowed to do. This offends me in my soul. The fact that these questions are raised at all, and not their competing answers, is why we need feminism ( Read more... )

Gentle readers: I have had a request for a post about hydration. Specifically, about the latest in a series of attempts by friends, colleagues, and other well-meaning individuals to have me increase my daily water intake ( Read more... )

Sometimes, all the threads of your life just come together. There's not a loose end to be seen, because every strand lies smooth and flat, occupying its own perfect space in a tightly woven tapestry, over and under and over and under its neighbours, unfurling before you, a perfectly planned, almost preordained pattern ( Read more... )

How do birds navigate? They have no rules of the road, no signposts, no lane markers to guide them. They wheel around in packs--expanding, contracting, making sharp turns on impossible angles--all going somewhere, together, but where ( Read more... )

Two weeks ago, I took a bad bounce and caught a softball with my leg, instead of with my glove, as the sports gods intended. You'd think I'd walk away with an ugly bruise, like most people would, but no: seems it was my turn for broken skin and a raging infection ( Read more... )

Half of my breakfast is in my stomach. Half of my breakfast is on my carpet.

I'm a big fan of sharing, but until my carpet joins me in my early morning workouts, it can find its own damn cereal.

Nothing says Monday morning like a spider in the bathtub ( Read more... )

Disclaimer: I realize that I'm about to quibble with the practices of a charitable organization that is already doing more than its fair share to take all the work out of giving. Honestly, there couldn't be many things easier than looking around your house, identifying items you no longer want, putting them into boxes or bags, and then dumping ( Read more... )

A mere six or so chapters into The Bloggess' new book (Let's Pretend This Never Happened: A Mostly True Memoir), I find myself dismayed.

Instead of laughing or being mildly grossed out at her father's strange antics, as per the rest of my book club, I found myself nodding in recognition, then kindling back over to 50 Shades of Grey (which, for the ( Read more... )