Perforation Problems

Packing is always an existential dilemma for me. What if I bring the wrong thing? What if I'm too hot? Too cold? What if my shorts are too short and make everyone notice all my cellulite? What if my shorts are too long and I look uncool? What if we end up going somewhere unexpected and I don't have the right thing to wear and then I feel out of place? What if what I'm wearing makes me feel awkward and then my confidence suffers and then I start doing weird things and feeling like a loser? Meanwhile Michael throws three pairs of shorts, a bunch of t-shirts, and his swimsuit in a bag and calls it a day. I tried to pack early tonight but couldn't finish because there's one more load of laundry to do. We're leaving for a week at Michael's parents' cabin in upstate New York on Saturday, and as always happens before vacations, no matter how ahead of the game I think I am, I'm suddenly overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done before we leave. T...

I just spent the last two hours making homemade peanut butter & pumpkin dog biscuits for Clyde and the other doggies that will be at the cabin next week for the 4th of July (I must call them doggies or puppies, not dogs, because that's just how it is). I did this despite the fact that Clyde has infuriated me twice in the last two weeks by getting in fights with a raccoon in our backyard. Do you know what a raccoon sounds like in the wild? It's not Meeko in Disney's Pocahontas. This was no twittering or cheerful chirping. This is a Satanic snarling and growling, interspersed with the occasional high-pitched scream—sounds that are especially disturbing 1) when you hear them mixed in with branches cracking and your dog's whining and barking  2) when you're hearing them from somewhere above you while you stomp around in the dark woods in your pajamas, trying to find your possibly-injured dog by the light of the flashlight on your phone. Clyde is fine. Mad at me ...

Tomorrow's my grandma's birthday—or would have been her birthday. 75. I don't know what the right approach is for this—mention it to my grandpa and mom, that I'm thinking of her on this day, or don't. It doesn't really matter. I think about her every day. But this day is specifically her day. If I'd been thinking ahead, I would have had flowers delivered to my mom—she's been having a rough couple of weeks anyway—but I didn't think ahead. Last year I got Grandma flowers for her birthday and gave them to her at the beginning of a lake weekend. She texted me later that week to tell me they still looked beautiful. But anyway. What I really meant to write about is how my plants are going crazy. Look at these suckers. They're too big for their pots. They're so big two of the three can't sit on the window sill anymore because the weight of the overflowing plant makes them topple off. I have something like 13 or 15 houseplants n...

I look up from my computer in a Starbucks in Broad Ripple. Through the mesh of the free-standing fireplace in the center of the room I can see a man, maybe in his late 40s, olive complexion, balding head, blue worn t-shirt. He's staring off into space. When I look back a second later, he's got his hand out and he's talking, laughing quietly, shaking his head. It's as if he's got someone in front of him, talking back, except he doesn't. I don't see a phone, earbuds, or a computer. He's just sitting in Starbucks, eyes closed one moment, open the next. His face turns upset, sad, his words quiet but frantic as he whispers, like he's pleading with someone, begging—then immediately he's laughing again, chortling almost, bringing his fingers up to his forehead as if the joke's so funny he can't take it. At first I think it's amusing, but the more I watch him the more he makes me paranoid, scared. He's not doing anything to me—why shoul...

My teddy bear's name was Teddy. He was soft and dark brown, with a lighter tan circle around his nose and two threads making up a mouth that pointed slightly down, like he was a little upset about something. I took him everywhere. He was the perfect size to fit right under my chin when I slept. I think the hospital gave him to me when my brother Matt was born, but that could be a detail I've confused in my head. I would have only been 3 years old. Likely he filled the void left when my dad threw away my beloved, raggedy blankie and told me I'd lost it. Still hurts, Dad. Still hurts. When my mom enrolled me in fire safety classes, I somehow got the notion that fires were inevitable and everybody had to have their house burn down at some point in their lives. It was going to happen to me and it was going to happen between 1 and 4 am, the time when my teacher said most fires happen. So I pulled together my most treasured items into a pile—my Little House on the Prairie boo...

As kids we'd ride around the neighborhood in the summer looking for someone with a swimming pool. My best friend Katie knew a kid named Jake whose parents were friends with her parents—he was always our first stop. He was younger than us and obnoxious, but he had a pool, and that made you forgive a lot. If Jake wasn't home we were pretty much out of luck, but we still had hope—hope that a pool would somehow magically materialize, hope that some forgotten-about or overlooked friend, or friend of a friend, would appear on the street, ready to invite us over to their luxurious, cool, refreshing backyard oasis. That never happened. Nicholson Elementary School, where I went to fourth grade, was within walking distance of our neighborhood. My dad and I jogged over there the few times he convinced me to run with him—through the neighborhood, around the school, then back home, where I would collapse red-faced and overheated in the shower. "It's much easier if you just ke...

I used to have a memory of sitting in my high chair in a dining room. In my head the room is slightly pinkish—not Barbie pink, but rose pink or mauve—and I'm at the corner of the table. The furniture is dark and has those flowery curves to the arms and back.There are other people there. I'm pretty sure I'm eating cake. I say "used to" because I remember feeling that this memory was certain, that it was my earliest memory. I used to be able to tell you what people were there, what people were saying, what I was doing. There might have been presents, there might have been streamers. But over time the memory has gotten fuzzier and fuzzier and now I'm not sure if I made it up or if it's actually real. I could be remembering my brother, it could be another baby, it could be something from a movie or tv show. I could be merging a bunch of memories together and adding content from my own imagination. I just don't know any more. So that memory is lost. But...