My mother and my stepfather are tidy people. Indeed, they are so tidy they have garnered a collective nickname. Together they are “Mr. and Mrs. Shelfliner.” This comes from the term “shelf liner,” the paper with which extremely clean and neat/borderline obsessive people line the bottoms of their kitchen shelves so that the… Well, you know, so that the dust and the… Mm.

Look, I care about wood as much as the next girl (hey-o) but I’m not sure why the unseen bottom of a shelf needs lining. Perhaps if you are in the habit of putting dripping salsa jars in … Read entire post

I believe this holiday has potential. For touchdowns, backhands, treetops. For mischief. For clear sunrises following midnight runs to bakeries for American danish. I believe there is room for December’s bracing breezes, for freezing rain and mango lassis held in red mittens. And there is always, always room for a joke told twice (because it’s better the second time) but there is more room for it this holiday because we could all use a good joke right about now, even if we heard that one before.

I half-believe in Santa. I definitely believe in myself.

Merry Christmas!

Let’s not go into why. Let’s not talk about how. Let’s just say that there was a party. And it got real. Clearly.

Enjoy,
Mary

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Mr. Sir Walter Scott wrote an epic poem called Marmion in 1808. We know how these things work. He likely started it in 1800 and finished it in 1808, but who am I to blow against the wind? There were snow flurries today in Chicago and I purchased a Christmas present, so I figure it’s a perfect time to re-write a portion of a classic Christmas poem. What else are you going to do, listen to a recording of the horrifying, rapey “Baby It’s Cold Outside”? Yeah, no.

I tried to do the whole thing, but it’s 1:45am. So there’s just … Read entire post