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Admittedly, I'd be less enthusiastic about "Catholic priest" as a career option if I had just one son and no other options for grandchildren. But still.
This was one of those pieces that seemed providential. I read the provoking HARO query early in the morning, hammered this out, and then contacted an editor at The Globe, who just happened to have an opening for 600 words in the next day's newspaper. Coincidence, or something more?
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Someone asked me recently what writer my own style most resembles. Erma Bombeck? Lisa Scottoline? Anne Lamott? No, I'm thinking a guy, one word, not Shakespeare. Jonah. We are both unwilling messengers. Look, I don't want to write about divorce. Heck, I don't want to be divorced. But I am. It's what I know. And the first rule of writing is "write what you know." And what I know is that, other than boxing, divorce is the only legally sanctioned act of violence in America today.
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Jennifers are starting to turn up regularly in the obituaries, a troubling development for those of us stuck with the nom du jour of the '70s. I feel like I should drive up and down Boston Post Road, shouting "The Jennifers are dying! Take cover!" And, trolls, go take your meds: Of course I left the waitress a tip.
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It is entirely untrue, a vicious lie, that I started playing with axes after my divorce. This particular obsession started long before it.
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My mother had an empty nest when she was 38 years old. I had my fourth child the year I turned 40. Because so many of us are having children later in life, we're facing the bone-chilling prospect of still having kids at home when we're joining the AARP ... something to think about when tacking on another year. (read more)
I'm sorry, but it's true: Too many runners are snobs. This is why I once had a T-shirt made that said "Yeah, You're Faster Than Me, But Have You Had Four C-sections?" I can identify my tribe in a race by how they respond to my shirt. But here I make the case that runners deserve pity, not awe. After all, we're pathetically addicted.
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There are well-meaning people who believe that we should never make fun of the Nazis, that doing so belittles the horrors of the Holocaust. I'm not one of them. I think we should make fun of them as often as possible, and as loudly as possible; ridicule is an underused weapon. And regardless, there is just something inherently funny about hearing "All Nazis report to the gym for your waltz lessons" on the morning announcements. I wish I could be that funny. (read more)
The grim tweeter is here! Since newspapers are disappearing, we can no longer count on a print obituary to announce our demise to the world. Exit me; enter capitalism. Is this a great country, or what? (read more)
Many thanks to the Catholic Education Resource Center (www.catholiceducation.org) for reprinting this essay. And, for the record: chocolate. I gave up chocolate. How many more days until Easter? (read more)
If we modeled our schools after ancient Greece, with gymnastics and wrestling and other strenuous pursuits interspersed throughout the school day, then weighing our kids might make sense. But some schools don't even allow recess anymore. And anyone who feeds my kids chicken nuggets for lunch shouldn't chastise me about their weight. (read more)
Am I more, or less, qualified to write about marriage now that I am divorced? My marriage of 18 years ended about the same time that Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins announced their break-up. It is a raw and ugly business, the tearing-down of shared lives, more so when there are children involved.
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How much do I hate Valentine's Day? So much that I once purchased the domain name "slaycupid.com." I'm not the only one who wants to wing that
pasty-faced cherub.
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A few people asked whether I was offended by the headline. Actually, I wrote it. It was amusing to see this piece dissected across the
Internet; in one chat room, there was a lively discussion of whether I was "fat enough" to call myself "fat." Well, I don't shop at Lane
Bryant, but my high-tech bathroom scale gasps when it displays my body-fat percentage.
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Nearly 2,000 years ago, Marcus Aurelius said the same thing, in fewer words: "For most of what we say and do is unnecessary, and if a man
leaves them out, he will have more leisure and less trouble." The guy had 13 children; I don't know how much leisure Mrs. Aurelius had.
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Flanagan is the common ground that stay-at-homes and working moms have sought for so long. No matter how moms spend their days,
they all can hate her!
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My life is not so vacant that I spend the year planning for Christmas
... but I did once spend two days stripping wallpaper from a
rental-house living room so that it wouldn't clash with the Christmas tree. We all have our weaknesses. (read more)
When I lived on the beach in South Carolina, I expected hurricanes occasionally to disrupt my life.
But in Richmond? Who knew?
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This piece is a study in perseverance. It was written five years before it was finally published, and I still have two rejection
letters from early queries. But everything's in the timing. NRO ran it on the 15th anniversary of the Rush Limbaugh Program, and Mr.
Limbaugh wrote me a gracious thank-you note that my grandmother will treasure forever.
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©2003-2011 Jennifer
Nicholson Graham |
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