now I remember laughter

I wanted to wait to post till I was sure I was giddy with joy, because I tell you Reader, the winter has been a suckfest. I was waiting for the third boot to drop, you know how bad news comes in threes. But Stella's teacher who spoils me rotten with her adoration for my kids, told me I could use her brother for my third thing. He's battling cancer. So thank you Miss K. I am done now. And I will pray for your brother even though I'm a budding atheist. And with the melting snow, let's just say I should give myself the gift of one of those light hats for next winter. The sun makes everything so much better. So does a doofy Adam Sandler movie. So yes, laughter made a comeback this evening. Praise be.

smack-heady persuasion

In my last life as a childless struggling artist living in Brooklyn, I'd go apartment hunting roughly every four years. I'd walk from room to room, my imagination already planting myself in the space, picturing the walk to the subway, the soapy electric smell of the laundry room, the clicking of kitchen cabinets, the feel of the air while I laid in bed and considered my new dust motes. This was an uplifting experience if the apartment boasted period detail, hardwood floors and was situated on a beautiful block. More often the apartment smelled like mold, had drop-ceilings, fake paneled walls and the only bodega around sold three year-old Bisquick. It would take me days sometimes to rid myself of the feeling that my life had buckled in on itself in an oppressive particle-board heap, even as I knew I hadn't signed a lease, and wouldn't in a jillion years.