Families with trauma make interesting patterns. Families with Tourette syndrome in every member speak of genetic trauma to me. I hear of families where one child is diagnosed and parents and siblings struggle and embrace and champion the neurological differences in their outlier. But what of my family? All of us are the outliers. To …
“It’s a nice case. Slim, pretty.” “Nope.” “Okay, how about this one?” My husband turns the screen to show me a sophisticated phone case he wants to add to the online cart. “I will destroy it. And the phone.” He shakes his head and picks up my new mobile phone. “Wow. I can’t believe how …
It’s called a Giant House Spider. The problem is that I don’t have a giant house, so there was no room for both of us. He had to go. I had the strange feeling that I was being watched while I dressed for work. The creeps. But the creeps are nothing new to me, especially …
I find myself in bed and it’s still light outside. Granted, it is mid-June and the sun refuses to set at a decent hour. But the hour is still in single digits and I realize I’m lonely tonight. The house is empty and large. My darling husband is away at a conference and I always …
“Oweeee.” “Seriously, Lori?” “What?” “Let’s break this down,” says my husband, eyeing me over a glass of club soda, which he hands to me. I take a few gulps and burp. “Can you spare me the root cause analysis this time?” I ask. “Humour me.” “Gah!” I roll my eyes. “Fifteen minutes ago you said …
I’ve often wondered if I can call myself a writer even if I have never sold my work. I’m often described as having a “gift for words”. My husband calls me a Wordsmith. The reason this comes up is because lately I have suffered from Writer’s Block. But if I am technically not a writer, …
I was in Hydra once. Ydra, Greece. And we found Leonard Cohen’s house, with bougainvillea around the front door and a brass hand for a door knocker. My husband recited some of Mr. Cohen’s poetry and we sang Hallelujah as we climbed back down the stone stairs and alleys to the main port. Later I …
We spent some time with old friends and I wanted to remember specific moments like the way her bracelet became a prism and filled the car with rainbows. Singing tribute to Tom Petty on echoing cobbled streets. The lighthouse in the old harbour. The smell of his tyropita the moment it is removed from the …
The symmetry of the number 44 (my brand new age) appeals to my Tourette brain, as does the day of the month and time I was born: 11 at 22:22pm. These pleasant brain waves were nearly altered by the chaos in the driver’s license renewal office, though, so I distracted myself with the organ …