My Cardboard Balcony

Hey, guys. This is technically a late post, but I wanted to finish something before writing this, in order to get some sort of closure. First thing I want to say is that I have a new job. I will be working in AmeriCorps as a leader in a literacy program called GIRLSmart. This program will work with girls from kindergarten to second grade on their reading skills. While I'm extremely excited for the job, it's going to drastically change my schedule, and while I will still be pounding out my blog posts, there may be delays especially if my Saturdays are booked as well (and we all know how often Storytellers come in late). But still, super excited. It's a full-time job with benefits and stipends and educational awards, which I desperately need to pay off my loans. And it really provides a challenge for me to go in depth into community outreach and literacy movements. Some other big news I have - and this is the reason the introspection was delayed - is that within eight day...

Cars and Coffee by Belinda Roddie “A Honda Civic.” “You’ve got to be kidding me." “No, I’m serious. A black Honda Civic. 2001, maybe. Saw one in the IJ.” “Out of all the cars you can choose to drive, you decide on the blandest, most economically sound vehicle?” “All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t get a fancy car even if I had the money,” Tony says, as Simon rolls his eyes and takes another drag from his cigarette. The three of us are standing nonchalantly outside of Peet’s, listening to the tattooed man play Bob Dylan and altering intakes of nicotine and coffee. “Still, a Honda Civic? I mean, seriously?” Simon mutters. “Oh, c’mon, Simon, think about it. Say I did get a nice car. Like a BMW convertible. Or a Jaguar.” “No. No Jaguar. Jaguars suck. One day you’re speeding down the highway, the next you’re at Randall’s, trying to get the engine to stop acting so fucked up.” “Dude, you’re not listening. You’re totally missing my point.” “Fine. Move along with your h...

Sammy got misty-eyed as he looked at the picture of his wife. Snowy hair, frosted pink lips. She was posing with her hands on her hips on a small sailboat sailing on the Pacific. He handed the small framed photo to me. "She left me," he said, "twenty years after we married. Yet she never filed for divorce. And that, to me, is more painful than her actually untying the knot once and for all."