A few things have transpired since I took this photo in early May. The virus has wreaked havoc with our lives, bringing us and “normal” to our knees. Jobs don’t look and feel like they once did. Schools are operating wild west, frontier style. A little over a week ago, insurrectionists stormed our nation’s capital…
I paused at a place where the trail curves and rises in a subtle incline. Gaps in the patches of trees broke up the shoreline like openings in a fence. Across the water a large stand of tress jutted out into the lake. Their tall black spines set against the sky the color of flint,…
“How are you? How are you doing,” I asked my friend. I asked because I cared and because this is what I know we’re supposed to do to start a conversation. “Horrible, but thanks for asking,” she responded. There was a beat. We both burst out laughing, gutted by the truth masquerading as absurdity. It…
FADE IN EXT. TRANSFER STATION (AKA. THE LOCAL DUMP), RURAL TOWN—DAY A WOMAN in her “thirty-tens,” but often mistaken for younger (not-so-humble-brag owned) drives into the transfer station. She makes her way around the short loop to pull up next to the dumpsters. Two men work at the station: SAM and MEL. They both are…
Some funny women are supernovas--Kathy Griffin, Leslie Jones, late-1980s and early-1990s-era Roseanne—filling any space with their massive energy, leaving behind crater-sized imprints carved out by the force of their comedic audacity. I’m forever fascinated and a little terrified of these women. I want to know how they handily gut a room with laughter that scatters…
