Eat, pray, love? Try cook, clean, burn. This Manic Mama talks to Barbara Stewart about her book Campie, a true life account of what happens when a person is pushed to the edge - literally. When it all goes south, you can always go north.Listen now.
Observation: Lisbon has more drug dealers per capita than any place I've ever been. Also, boy scouts.
The dealers are shocking because nobody has ever offered to sell me drugs, let alone six strangers on any given public square.
The boy scouts? Well, I kind of thought they were extinct. Or at least, elsewhere in the world the older ones refrain from going out in public with the hats on.
The surgeon wanted to make a standing date for more super annoying cancer treatments every Friday for the rest of the month.
I went "Uh. . . no."
He was surprised - who turns down such exciting offers?
I shrugged. "I'll be out of the country."
The plan was even (to my not so secret delight) a direct challenge to the whole notion of cancer, because I jetted away toward that dazzling forbidden treat: sunlight.
Make-a-Wish and similar charities either did not exist or did not reach my hometown in the year I was diagnosed with two different kinds of cancer and a rare genetic disorder. If they had, I would have asked for something along the lines of a trip to England and a visit to the set of a certain science fiction television program.
But they didn't, so instead, I got a television of my very own. I curled up around the pain and the remote control and watched endless cryptic episodes of Doctor Who, wishing myself away. Anywhere, everywhere, elsewhere.
It has been a year since I sold my boat, bought a flat, and moved to London.
Do I miss life on the river, or anything at all about Cambridge? In a word: no.
In the JK Rowling books, you know how Harry's scar throbs when Voldemort gets angry? That is how I feel in USA. Except I have 350+ scars.
Oh America, land of big cars, bad food, good friends: I adore & abhor you most sincerely. Farewell, so long, goodbye!
One day we went out driving to look at all of Byron's youthful haunts. Our own disgruntled teenager quickly tired of the nostalgia tour so we turned the car toward modern entertainments.
The nearest movie theatre was at Westminster Mall but as we entered the parking lot something was most definitely not right.
Geese were nesting not just on traffic medians but straight across lanes. When Byron steered to avoid crushing them we noticed that the parking lot of what we remembered as the largest and busiest mall in the northwest Denver metro area was. . . entirely empty.
Memo: I came here in search of GOOD weather. Not historic cold snaps!
Snow storms? Rolling blackouts? Stranded in the desolate ruins of downtown Houston?
No problem, because I discovered a secret portal to another world.
Looking for un-sexy, anti-fun, dystopian design? The Houston Tunnels have it all!
One observation from my travels:
Now that I'm old, a different type of creepy stranger hits on me! Whereas I was once pestered only by peers, recently I have had unwanted attention from a larger variety of socio-economic and age groups.
Though it is possible I was just too stupid to notice in youth.
Driving around in rural Texas I was amazed by many things, like abandoned houses, empty storefronts, and desolate car lots - all of which look as though they were thriving until recently. Like, say, weeks ago.
Marisa is a good friend, dependable, steady, perceptive, patient. She is the secular equivalent of a godparent to my children, the executor of my estate, an esteemed honorary member of the family. She is there if I need someone to listen, or a ride, or a friend to fly to the other side of the world and just hang out. And I would do the same for her. We don't talk much, because we don't need to; our friendship occupies a space beyond performance.