Freedom of Voice

     The biggest scam of the season in my mind isn't invalid gift cards or fake charities.  Yet, every single year on December 31st, we dupe ourselves into engaging in this tradition, ultimately lying to ourselves and wondering why we make these empty promises.      The New Year's Resolution.      Common on many lists:  lose weight, be more active, budget wisely, even save some money, volunteer, contact friends/family more often, relax more, quit smoking, quit drinking, travel more. You get the picture.      Some of us even write this stuff down to make it official.  Then, we imbibe in a little too much champagne and leftover holiday cookies and somehow lose our resolve. And the list.      This year, I resolve---no wait, I propose---that we toss this antiquated and ineffective tradition out the window like a piece of gum chewed way too long. Stop the madness. Stop the lies.  We deserve...

     Twenty-four hours couldn't come fast enough. I watched the clock intently just waiting to go home with my newborn daughter and husband. I was a kind of tired I had never experienced despite working full-time, and sometimes an extra part-time job on top of that, all while attending college.  Had I known what was about to transpire, I most likely would have begged to stay an extra twenty-four, maybe even seventy-two hours.      We anxiously buckled in our fat-faced, 8 lb., 7 oz. child and hit the road.  We had already asked our family to give us a few days at home without visitors as an adjustment period. I'm sure none were happy about this, but everyone lived in town, so I didn't feel bad about putting them in a holding pattern.      When we got home, I don't remember much except passing out, sleeping as long as the little bugger would let me before she started screeching for a bottle---breastfeeding had been a bust. I will ...

     When I was in high school, a popular writing assignment was to write your own obituary.  I guess the purpose was to reflect on what you wanted to accomplish in life.  But, back in the day, teachers weren't required to write objectives on the board, so I'm not 100% sure.      I didn't repeat this morbid idea when I became an English teacher. I had kids write resumes and job descriptions for characters we studied. I even had them diagnose a character with a mental illness as we read Macbeth.    But, I couldn't wrap my head around the obituary or eulogy thing.  Not to mention, I imagined the onslaught of angry parent emails and phone calls when I made their precious pumpkins imagine their deaths. No thanks.      I don't even know why this popped into my head this morning. I certainly wasn't pondering death. I really wasn't even pondering life. My brain just has a weird way of presenting things at seemingly rando...

     Panic gripped me.       I'm wearing a swimsuit, a cover up and flip flops. There is no bathroom on the boat, so you just go in the water like everyone else.       As I stared at the text, an answer to my inquiries about an event hosted by one of my dearest friends, I shuddered at my horrifying options:  Wear a swimsuit and expose myself in front of people I don't know or try to enjoy the boat ride fully clothed, hoping and praying I wouldn't have to pee for 4 hours.      I have a small bladder. Enough said.      I have turned down many invitations like this because I didn't want to show complete strangers the scary stuff I hide quite well under clothes. And, this particular friend is not only a knock-out, she seems to attract other hotties into her fold.     I rubbed my temples as my husband looked at me across the small table at a local wine bar where we were about to enjoy din...

     Yesterday on my way home from work, my fuel warning light came on. My car is so polite that it asked me if I wanted it to find the nearest gas station. No, thanks.  I was too close to home, too tired to screw with it right that second. I'll fill up tomorrow, I thought.      Today, when I hit the road to do some Christmas shopping, I passed three gas stations before I noticed that darn light. Oops.  I was so very close to my destination and had already risked my life and sanity driving the short distance to the nearest mall, so I decided to live on the edge and complete my shoppaganza before backtracking to the closest gas station.      Luckily, I scored a few cute gifts and all the wrappings. Even luckier, I actually made it to the gas station, avoiding the awkward call to my husband to bring me fuel because I was stranded on the side of the road.      Even though I averted disaster this time, I couldn't ...

     I rarely go to see a doctor, but when I make my annual-visit rounds, I will bring up some health concerns.      Over the past few years, the pat answer has been, "Well, you are in your forties."      To which I respond (sometimes jokingly), "Well, if I'm falling apart in my forties, why would I want to live until I'm 90?"      They chuckle, but they don't give me an answer. Sometimes I want to say, "That wasn't a rhetorical question. I need an answer."  But, I know they don't have an answer, so I let it go.      The answer came to me yesterday in the form of a 90-pounds-dripping-wet elderly woman.      Over the years when I take a mid-morning walk---either on a day off or a weekend---I pass this woman on the walking trail in my neighborhood.  She walks at a snail's pace, at first without any apparatus to support her, then with a cane, and finally yesterday with a walker. ...