The prospect of writing the words “me too” on Facebook has filled me with dread each time I’ve gotten close. This morning I read a friend’s post expressing similar feelings and it made me recall this essay. I’ve decided to share it here.
That woman is me
by Jillian Myrom, Minnesota Women’s Press, July 29, 1992
I’ve never seen a dead body before. I didn’t expect that feeling of numbed comprehension, the awe that comes over me as I stand at the window with the other secretaries looking out at the scene at 8 a.m.
Any other day, we have the best view in the building, looking up a sloping grassy hill with the St. Paul Cathedral looming over the top. Majestic. Idyllic.
Today there are several policemen lining the road at the top of the hill. The body is at a distance from them, lying at the foot of a tree. Behind her is a low wrought-iron gate which scales the hill; behind the gate is a forest. Continue reading
She did it again.
Another thoughtful, useful, well written, humorous, self-deprecating post written just for rowers landed in my inbox this morning.
I’m talking of course about Lauren Crandall and her new-ish blog, Dear Novice Rower.
The cover of my current journal
LOVE AFTER LOVE
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat. Continue reading
What happens in this story / by Merie Kirby
This is not the story you think it is, the one about
the girl who touches the spindle and drops to the floor. Continue reading
The official FedEx logo.
On a grocery run across Pittsburgh with my brother-in-law a few years back, he pointed at the white truck in the next lane.
“Look at that Fed Ex truck,” Bill instructed. I did.
“Do you see the arrow?” Continue reading