stories
for the information age
These bite-sized stories chronicle my efforts, both pitiful and successful,
to navigate the rapidly-changing world.
My hope is that they help you do the same.
Updated: Oct 13, 2020
I am in an unspoken competition with my husband for the affection of the dog. I pretend not to notice when the dog follows me upstairs instead of staying in the living room with him. Sometimes, my husband gives the dog treats for no reason, trying to buy his favor. I do not say anything when, regardless, the dog follows me upstairs.
We are constantly watching for approval. A kind of approval to which, if we want, we can ascribe meaning.
Sometimes my son comes into my office and sits down. He sits on the spare chair at my desk and looks at me. I stop what I am doing and look back. This is it. All of parenting comes down to these moments when the creature you’ve given birth to and raised is before you, open, ready to engage about some matter great (meaning of existence) or small (what’s for dinner). Sometimes, we will have a political discussion. But mostly, as I look at him, I am conscious of my desire to look back at my computer . . .
He has come in while I am working, but I have a rule that he can always come in. And yet, I spend much of our interaction aware that I am trying not to look at my screen. I do not really hear what he says. I just know he is there and that I am not really with him. Once I sense I have missed him, I see in his eyes that he senses the betrayal. He is too kind to say anything, but he knows he’s been passed over.
Updated: May 15, 2020
I sit on the threshold watching the sparrows. My own kids are on the edge of this nest and I cannot help but see them in these birds. I watch as the sparrows dart their beaks into the soil, and as they flutter from place to place. I watch the commotion, the digging, the feeding; it is a quiet mayhem, it is frenzied and choreographed, a folly and a dance.
On this late spring afternoon, I resist the temptation to get up to do something productive. I do not get up to clear the table of its stained dinner plates, nor do I go online and reply to the stack of emails. I do not turn on the evening news. Instead, I sit and watch the world unfurl its wings.
~ for my boys on Mother's Day 2020