The Corkscrew

I bought a bottle of French wine yesterday for no particular occasion. It only cost $15 but the gesture felt full and (pardon the word) “juicy” in a joie de vivre kind of way.

Bottle in hand, I returned home to an empty house and had exactly one hour before picking up my six year old. I thought to pour myself a glass of wine, let the setting sun cast golden on my velvet couch and do some writing. I’d let the rich, red liquid from a distant land loosen the words from my pencil lead. Maybe my fingers would fly over the keyboard. I would steep in the essence of being a 37 year old woman, alone in the early evening, drinking a glass of wine and writing, feeling sensual and alive. Read more


Jeb discovers the concept of coupons
the free Longs Drugs store booklet is in our post office box
advertising images of electric nose hair trimmers for $7.99
V05 Shampoo
and Hershey bars
are on sale
he’s in the back seat as we drive home
flipping through his book of options
brimming with more enthusiasm than I have heard all week
“even soda!”
“even cereal!”
“this is unbelievable!”

He is in amazement that one can open the mailbox
be gifted a book of consumer goods
and be able to receive these items at reduced rates
by simply presenting a piece of paper

He grasps the concept like an alien that just landed on planet earth
(which at the age of six, he sort of is)
reminding me of all I take for granted
all the coupon books I’ve cursed on their way to the recycle bin
my sadness for the trees lost
to sell a can of Van de Camp baked beans

February 2, 2010

February 2, 2010

Jeb tells me that his friend at pre-school is having bad dreams. The teacher encourages the children to wish good thoughts for him so that he can have a more pleasant dreamtime.

Jeb tells me he wished for the friend to be dancing with fire ants.

“Why fire ants?” I ask.

“Because they stung me once.”

The next day at school the class checked in to see how his dreams were. He said he dreamt he was dancing with fire ants.

Later in the evening, Jeb and I log on to Netflix to watch an episode of Meerkat Manor. Striped fur and featherlight monkey tails all move in unison across the screen. Tonight they’re looking for a new burrow.

Jeb says, “I wish my dad and I could be Meerkats.”

“How come?” I say.

“Because if you have burrows, then you don’t need money for a home.”

The weight of his dad’s financial burdens reveals itself in aching sweetness. My heart skips a beat.

Still pondering the possibility of Meerkatness with a zip code in the Kalahari, he says “I guess we couldn’t watch movies, though.”