January 2011
80 posts
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Paint By Numbers
That gorgeous silver rack that’s been anchored in the bathroom since before we met?
It FLEW off the wall today.
Took huge chunks of drywall with it.
I spackled the holes but damn, I can’t exactly ask where the hell you stored the green paint.
Looks like I’m painting the walls white this weekend.
You always said we need to repaint the bathroom.
That color wasn’t what you were going...
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(Deep Thought #422)
“White Elephant in the Room hits me somewhere deep inside. It sucks me into your emotions and history and reminds me that it’s O.K.— no, it’s necessary—to feel, to introspect. You’ve helped me think about about my own life experiences and be thankful for each and every one of them. Keep living, keep writing, keep posting.” — Erica, New York
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Throwback Thursday: Letters + Positive Pregnancy...
Today’s mail serves up a few catalogs addressed to Alberto and a letter from my biological grandmother. She and my dad, the son she gave up for adoption in 1951, located each other nine years ago and have been corresponding ever since. Her letter addresses a reoccurring theme—how do she and my father fit into each other’s adult lives?—and I find myself in a familiar but awkward spot.
She writes to...
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(From Kentucky, With Love)
“I’m halfway through White Elephant in the Room and every story touches me. Your ability to write about this experience is captivating and I’ve recommended your blog to a family friend whose husband is slowing fading from Lou Gehrig’s Disease…I’m sure she will find it as inspiring as I have.” — Kayla, Kentucky
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Hey, Book Two: Nice to Meet You.
Last summer, I read a novel with a narrative structure so visual, I could smell the champagne and hydrangeas in every scene. Could hear the breaking of brandy glasses and human hearts in real-time. Its narrative structure was more suited to a play than a fiction, but as a book, it somehow just fucking worked.
DISCLAIMER: Conventional narrative structure interests me about as much as the U.S. tax...
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(Portrait of a Prankster)
“Your photo of Alberto makes me happy and sad. Sad because I’ve been feeling a massive amount of guilt for missing my Grandma’s funeral while I was living in Prague. Sad also because I see so much life behind his eyes and it makes me wish I never had to spend a minute without the one I love…and the ones I love. Thank you for being my daily reminder of how much love and luck I have...
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Identity Crisis? Dress Accordingly.
I love the necklace, a girlfriend says. Is it new?
This question should come with a simple-dimple answer.
It doesn’t.
Should I lie and keep things appropriate?
Should I not-lie and make shit awkward?
I pause.
Finger the necklace.
Forge ahead.
Christmas 2005, I say.
Tiffany, I explain.
Alberto, I shrug.
It’s beautiful, she says.
First time I’ve worn it, um, since.
She nods, glances at my...
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Identity Crisis? Dress Accordingly.
I love the necklace, a girlfriend says. Is it new?
This question should come with a simple-dimple answer.
It doesn’t.
Should I lie and keep things appropriate?
Should I not-lie and make shit awkward?
I pause.
Finger the necklace.
Forge ahead.
Christmas 2005, I say.
Tiffany, I explain.
Alberto, I shrug.
It’s beautiful, she says.
First time I’ve worn it, um, since.
She nods, glances at my...
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Throwback Thursday: A Fly on the Wall
At 4:45 this morning, a phone message chimes into my dream and wakes me. It’s from a girl in California who’s married to a fireman: the fire chief of San Luis Obispo dropped dead of a heart attack during a softball game and do you have any advice for planning a funeral reception for 2000 people?
I lay in bed for a few minutes before words like guest book, altar pieces, memory cards,...
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Widow Waltz
Might be the snow-turned-rain or my decision to change a few of our photos in frames or the chore of taking down the Christmas tree, but today just feels like a maudlin Coldplay song is on repeat.
(Oh wait, it is.)
This kind of day is not news: it usually arrives a day or three after some major milestone. The last one was Saturday—introducing The Painter to Alberto’s friends went swimmingly, by...
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Widow Waltz
Might be the snow-turned-rain or my decision to change a few of our photos in frames or the chore of taking down the Christmas tree, but today just feels like a maudlin Coldplay song is on repeat.
(Oh wait, it is.)
This kind of day is not news: it usually arrives a day or three after some major milestone. The last one was Saturday—introducing The Painter to Alberto’s friends went swimmingly, by...
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(A Love—Not a Loss—Story)
“A friend of mine was recently widowed and someone suggested she read White Elephant in the Room. She told me about it and now I’m addicted too. I’ve read every single entry and love your frankness and raw emotion…thank you for reminding me what true love is like. My marriage has been rough the last year but things are just starting to improve and you have opened my eyes to...
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To the Wolves...Um, Or Not
On the road back to Semi-Normality, there were a few stops I knew I’d have to make: bike-riding to Brooklyn, our favorite Manhattan restaurants, Miami Beach. All of these places hurt like hell the first time but a little less the second and third time around.
Twenty-two months later, there are more items checked off than not. One thing I haven’t yet done is attend a party filled with Alberto’s...
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To the Wolves...Or Not
On the road back to Semi-Normality, there were a few stops I knew I’d have to make: bike-riding to Brooklyn, our favorite restaurants, Miami. All of these places hurt like hell the first time but a little less the second and third time around. Twenty-two months later, there are more items checked off than not. One of the things I haven’t yet done is attend a party filled with Alberto’s friends—not...
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(In Sickness + In Health)
“I’ve been reading White Elephant in the Room since the get-go. And last week, my father passed away. It wasn’t sudden. He was diagnosed with cirrhosis last August and for the remaining months of his life, my mom took care of him. My parents had been estranged for 17 years but they came full circle and forgave all past wrongs, even renewing their vows privately. It was so bittersweet...
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(In Sickness + In Health)
“I’ve been reading White Elephant in the Room since the get-go. And last week, my father passed away. It wasn’t sudden. He was diagnosed with cirrhosis last August and for the remaining months of his life, my mom took care of him. My parents had been estranged for 17 years but they came full circle and forgave all past wrongs, even renewing their vows privately. It was so bittersweet...
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A Love Story (Not a Loss Story)
“A friend of mine was recently widowed and someone suggested she read White Elephant in the Room. She told me about it and now I’m addicted too. I’ve read every single entry and love your frankness and raw emotion…thank you for reminding me what true love is like. My marriage has been rough the last year but things are just starting to improve and you have opened my eyes to...
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Six Hundred Days
The gutwrenching void.
It’s starting to recede.
Six hundred days of living without.
Six hundred days of living within.
Alberto: you are still here, still near, but you’re sharing space with the 22 months of living I’ve done since you died.
My present tense has a new cell number and renewed passport and different business cards.
It’s learned to discover other...
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