It’s a rough February, as all Februaries are, but I’ve been passing the time by imagining a room made of sunflowers. This is an idea I discovered while staring at online seed catalogs and trying not to go crazy. My veteran readers know that I’m always crazy, but especially in February. I cannot abide February. I love bright color and beautiful things, but there’s none of that to be had in Steubenville in February. The sun rarely shines and it’s... Read more
I really meant to go to Mass this week, but I ended up staying home to rest. I think it’s been a month since I’ve been inside a church. Serendipity is still on the fritz, but we had a ride to the evening liturgy at the quiet church that doesn’t usually hurt very much. I was determined to go. But then, in the hour before he came to get us, the anxiety gripped my chest. I tried to quell... Read more
I woke up on the first of February, Imbolc, the feast of Saint Brigid, to another text message. The landlord, the Lost Girl said, was at her door demanding the rent in cash. And he wasn’t going to leave until he got it. She had woken up very early to get her children on the bus for school. Their new house is far out of the way of the school, but she didn’t want the boys to switch schools in... Read more
Ernie was a window washer. I didn’t know him personally, and I think I was the only one in town who didn’t. Ernie got around. He was an old man who drove a tiny motor scooter, with two long scrubbing brushes on poles stuck in PVC pipe in the back like antennae. He drove it very slowly up and down Sunset Boulevard– that’s the pretentious name of the stretch of Route 43 which cuts right through Steubenville. And then... Read more
It’s the small mercies that make all the difference. January ended inauspiciously. We had a rough first month of the year, with gas bills through the roof after December’s severe cold, and we still don’t have a working vehicle, so recently Michael and I ended up going downtown on the bus to get a food box to stretch out the week’s groceries. I hate going to the food pantry. It seems like cheating when some months we’re perfectly fine... Read more
On Sunday night, the Lost Girl went to the emergency room. It turned out there was nothing wrong, but she’s diabetic and more than eight months pregnant, so when her hand went numb she went to get monitored just in case. The baby is still in there, kicking away. When she was almost time to be released, she texted her parents. Her parents had been on the Doctor Jeckyll side of their split personality, lately, so when they asked the... Read more
On Friday evening, I got into Serendipity for her maiden voyage. I’d been scared to drive her after the meltdown just before Christmas. I was panicking at the thought of the car going haywire in the middle of a main road, causing a crash. I’ve been panicking about a crash since our ill-fated trip to Columbus in September. I had comical nightmares about being trapped in a car plunging down a flight of stairs and crash landing in someone’s basement.... Read more
I shouldn’t have to say that Black lives matter. That seems like such a cheap thing to say. Let me try again. I shouldn’t have to say that Black lives, Black human beings, Black stories, Black experience, matter. Black fathers matter. Black artists matter. Black skateboarders matter. Tyre Nichols mattered. His family’s grief matters. The collective trauma of his community matters. I should not be writing about a horrific murder today. Tyre Nichols should be playing with his son... Read more
As I write this, we are less than two hours from the official release of the bodycam footage of the slaying of Tyre Nichols. I don’t know if I’ll be able to watch it. I am not planning on sharing it on social media because so many Black commentators have been asking us not to. Mr. Nichols isn’t a mascot, he’s a human being. We’re all going to find out what’s on the footage anyway. Everyone who has seen... Read more
It’s been such a week I don’t know where to start, but I think things are getting back to normal now. “Normal” is a word I’ve used quite a bit the past few days. The Lost Girl moved into her new house: chaotically, as poor people tend to move. She was back and forth for hours in her car, moving what furniture was fit to keep. She’d planned on not telling her children about the new place as they... Read more
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