The Jobless Goddess

God, everything sucks now.   First of all, I just bought a new pack of underwear and they’re all too small. Every last one of them. I tried different colors and they are all definitely tight. Not to mention the fact that Robin Williams is gone. Wtf? As they say in “social media.” I’m telling you, more and more I feel like it’s time to gird our loins. The universal suffering is nearly unbearable. We are living next door to people who feel so isolated and in pain that they surprise us with the way they cope. The problem is that we don’t really know them. They live across the hall in our apartment complex or the next lawn over and we don’t even know their name. And, if they come toward us, we back away. There are some basic tenets of the Gospel and of humanity that are grossly overlooked today, the obvious being that we are all brothers and sisters. And I think it goes beyond that. We are for some reason scared of each other. We’re scared of reaching out and we’re scared of...

             I’ll tell you what, there’s quite a difference between working a 12-hour day when you’re 52 and doing it when you’re 22. What the hell.             By noon my feet start to resemble the Queen Mother’s stuffed into those low-heeled pumps she used to wear. God rest her. You can see the strap marks from my flip-flops by 1:30. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’ve taken to bringing in salty snacks on deadline day.             I’m copy editing all day, so my entire day revolves around finding a comma, or lack thereof, in the wrong place. Not to mention all those hyphenated words that need fixing. I know this doesn’t sound important to you, but to me, it’s titanic.             Anyway, after scouring the screen for hours, getting up only to use the...

   When I was in fourth or fifth grade all I wanted was a pair of white go-go boots. I didn’t want the short ankle boots that looked cowgirlesque. I wanted the kind women dancing in cages wore. The kind my older sister wore.    I finally got them, but the process was no cake walk.    I am nine years younger than my sister, and she was a cross between Nancy Sinatra and Maria from The Sound of Music to me. Our mother sewed a couple of short dresses with bell sleeves that went along with her boots for a “gig” my sister had when she was a sophomore at St. Catherine of Laboure High School. I wanted a gig.    At that time though, my gig was walking to Most Holy Name of Jesus School with our brother, Steve. He was in eighth grade and I was in first grade. He used to ply me with candy from the corner store so that I wouldn’t tell our parents that he had to stay after. Needless to say, that candy train ran out of licorice and I eventually turned...

   It’s that time of year again. I’m sweaty and I’m wearing my eight-year-old flip flops. Pretty soon I’ll have to yank my swimsuit on and look at the damage in the bathroom mirror, from the neck up like I always do. Some people apparently like summer vacation.    I was people-watching from my vantage point outside the Edgartown town hall the other day, waiting for my husband to pick me up and checking out the marks the aforementioned flip flops had left on my swollen feet that work day when I fixated on a family. They were enjoying a nice walk on Main Street, or at first glance they were. Then it began. The family vacation “episode.” The mother was wearing one of those popular maxi dresses. The dad had on white shorts, as did the two little boys who were maybe 3 and 7. The little girl had on a pastel dress and little pink sandals. She was maybe 5 or 6.    Everything was going well, and then the mother insisted that they all sit on a bench while s...

    I'm wearing yoga pants right now. Black with a pink dragon decorating the bottom of the right leg, and purchased during one of many exercise phases. I have no intentions of doing yoga tonight. Or any other night for that matter. The pants are comfy though.     I also have a tub of coconut oil spread in the refrigerator. I bought it to spread on my morning toast. It tastes like coconut-flavored Crisco so I don't use it. I predict that it goes the way of the wasabi-flavored dried seaweed I picked up three months ago.     There is a little plastic bag in a drawer in the bathroom filled with little gifts of makeup my daughter has given me. The mascara has dried to a fine powder.     Under the kitchen sink is a spray bottle of cleanser made from organic parsley. Unfortunately it's for use on granite and stone countertops. My countertop is made of some kind of hard plastic, and the spray causes the paper towels I use on it to pil...

    Father's Day is this weekend. I've written about my mom before but not about my dad so much.     It hurts me now just to type the words Father's Day I miss him so much.     My dad was tough. Strong. Like punch someone in the mouth and they bleed strong.     I can barely type this I love him so much.     He was handsome. He had a really nice face. That 1950s look of a dip in the hairdo.     There are times in life when you will meet someone who just gets you.     It can happen when you're a check out person at a grocery store. Or if you're salad prep on the line at a restaurant. Or if you're a college student. Or if you qualify for a senior discount. Someone will look at you right in the eye and they will understand you.     This was me and my dad. And I say "was" reluctantly. I wish I had nice illustrations about just how beautiful we were, my dad and me. ...

    I've been thinking a lot about mustard lately. It's one of my favorite things. It's so versatile and yet so enigmatic. There's yellow, there's honey, there's spicy brown, there's coarse grain, there's Dijon, there's horseradish. I could go on forever.     And then there's all its uses: sandwiches, pretzels, deviled eggs, salad dressings, marinades, sauces, glazes, potato salads. Besides all those fine attributes, did you know mustard is practically indestructible? And if you add a little water to dry mustard, viola, you've got yourself a condiment.    It's magical. If I was marooned on a desert island, I'd want a collection of Joyce Carol Oates books, a keg of good beer and a fine, fine mustard.     Oh, it's not just the taste. Mustard has played a significant role in my life. I once drove from Maryland to Mississippi with my nephew Chad and we discussed mustard the entire trip. I really feel we cemented our relationship du...