Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Category: Edges of a Thing
It’s a Hard Knock Life, So I’ve Heard
Remember toys that came in cereal boxes? Decoder rings and such? Well, our ever-hungry backyard squirrel, the one who has been raiding the bird seed bin for days came up on the porch and chewed the heck out of the beloved super-duper green plastic… Continue Reading “It’s a Hard Knock Life, So I’ve Heard”
Blessed are the Well-Wishers, I Guess
What you write about and what you want to write about are two different things a lot of the time. I want to write about how some condolences feel like diagnostic quests. How are you doing? No, how are you really doing? Is that… Continue Reading “Blessed are the Well-Wishers, I Guess”
Floating is Fine as a Strategy
“You don’t have to decide everything right now.” It was the funeral director who said this first but since that meeting a month ago, I’ve said it to myself a hundred times. I don’t have to have a plan. I don’t have to weigh… Continue Reading “Floating is Fine as a Strategy”
All the Things will Leave
I’m giving my mother’s afghan to Goodwill. It is pretty but very scratchy. Just writing that makes me feel like the afghan being scratchy is an insufficient reason to put it in the used blanket bin at Goodwill. So, I am feeling guilty about… Continue Reading “All the Things will Leave”
I’m Not a Wreck, I am Super Functional
I’m not a wreck. I am super functional. I have to be because there is so much to do. That said, I just spent an hour giving myself a pedicure because to not do so would have an adverse effect on my mental health.… Continue Reading “I’m Not a Wreck, I am Super Functional”
Father’s Day Homage to Howard
I’d like to write about the father my husband is but I want to be done reflecting on the last six weeks where his remarkable stamina and endless calm felt like an enormous, weighted blanket someone bought to suppress my flaming anxiety since he… Continue Reading “Father’s Day Homage to Howard”
What I Didn’t Say at My Daughter’s Funeral
I didn’t say that when she came here from Nicaragua when she was seven, she could catch fish with her bare hands. I saw her do this. At first, I thought it was an accident, a lucky grab. But then I realized that she’d… Continue Reading “What I Didn’t Say at My Daughter’s Funeral”
Ah. The Hard-Boiled Truth
You never know about a hard-boiled egg, how it’s going to peel, whether the shell will slide off or insist on being picked apart tiny shard by tiny shard. Once, when I volunteered for the morning shift at an overnight winter homeless shelter, I… Continue Reading “Ah. The Hard-Boiled Truth”
The Kitchen Window in the Morning
I’ve found that looking out the kitchen window first thing in the morning and wringing my hands while the coffee is brewing sets just the right mood for my day. You have to do some preemptive hand wringing so you aren’t tempted to take… Continue Reading “The Kitchen Window in the Morning”
Soup Keel Magic
It’s not the first time that the major challenge of my day is finding the keel and keeping it even. This challenge is on top of trying to keep the chewing of my biscotti quiet enough so the four-year-old in the next room doesn’t… Continue Reading “Soup Keel Magic”
Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
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