One of my favorite things to do is to return somewhere I’ve been before and mention all the ways that things have changed. I’m usually not upset about the change, I just like mentioning how things hadn’t always been that way, then, I comment on the change as if some meaning could be derived from the change itself.
One of my favorite things about my relationship with Jenny is our tradition of giving each other memorable dates as Valentine’s Day gifts.
Coming so quickly after Christmas, we’d normally be hard put to think of another material item that would shock or delight the other, and routine purchases hardly seem romantic.
Several months after moving into my current home (and the first I’ve ever owned), I was setting up a heating oil delivery and the operator asked for my nearest cross street.
I couldn’t answer her question.
In fact, I couldn’t name any other street in the neighborhood, but I was too embarrassed to admit it.
I’ve had this beautiful wooden flag for several months, but have been too afraid to hang it because I’ll have to put a hole in the wall. Sure, just a small hole or two for either a nail or a screw and anchor, but the sign itself has a bit more weight than your average picture.
Pictures, I can hang, but a heavy sign? The potential for actual damage is high. The thought gives me anxiety.
I’ve always been fascinated by magic.
The only item I personally selected for our wedding registry was a magic kit. Sadly, it was one of the few items on our registry that nobody bought. Apparently, I’m alone in feeling that a place isn’t really home without at least a little bit of wonderment somewhere to be found.
My biggest goal this winter is to finally get serious about soup. I made a good start at it last year, but this year I’m really trying to dive in and fill my ladle.
I’ve long since banished Mr. Campbell from the cupboard, but I’ve been stuck on Progresso for at least a decade now. Sure, the low sodium route has revolutionized my approach, but it’s time to bring my soup game out of the bargain bin and into the modern age.
The best conversations I’ve ever had have been entirely in my head.
In my head, I always know the right to thing to say. I stand up for every wrong against myself or anyone else and say the smoothest lines that cause women to swoon and men to spontaneously cheer.
The only problem is, these conversations never make it out of my head.
I used to think each new year needed to come with a resolution, but I gave up that nonsense years ago.
New Year’s resolutions are the willpower’s equivalent to setting three alarms because you know you’ll sleep past the first two. It is an exercise in tricking yourself into trying to be a better self, with a safety net to cushion your inevitable failure.
I’ve spent every Christmas Eve that I can remember at West Avon Congregational Church in my home town of Avon, Connecticut. This includes the years I lived in Texas, and the year just after Mom died, when Jenny and I stayed at a hotel with no refrigerator and our breakfast consisted of leftover pizza that froze in the car.
I miss the prevalence of coin return slots. As a kid, I couldn’t pass a payphone or vending machine without pushing the coin return button and thrusting my fingers into the slot to see if there was any change inside.
Newspaper machines were my favorite and promised the biggest payout when they hit. A reward for persistence and for curiosity. Discovered treasure in a modern world.
I rarely ever put my fingers into strange places anymore…