It started with driving directions. I was headed to Christmas dinner. Long story short, my family, just like yours, is complicated. The lesson wasn’t in the players, so much as it was in how I dealt with my own thoughts about the incident.
Though I spent many years in Boston and its neighborhoods, I am now officially paralyzed by traffic and the crowding. I’m sure people see my dirty Subaru and my license plate from NH spells lost redneck. But the density of humans and the lack of privacy overwhelms me; homes are “cheek to jowl” and windows face other windows, everyone’s life is on display.
In contrast, earlier today I dragged Alice out back to look at the logging project. We haven’t been up there weeks. The Christmas thaw has sent a deep warmth into the earth and torrents of water are rushing down from the ledges. Our usual route was detoured though I…
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Save the Ta-Tas! I 💗 boobies! Squeeze your (insert round fruit or vegetable here)!
These are all commonly touted euphemisms referring to the very serious issue of breast cancer awareness and prevention. They are also completely inappropriate and highly sexualized, not to mention offensive.
Granted, these various campaigns have really helped to raise awareness of breast cancer and necessary preventive and detection methods, but at what cost?
First of all, these suggestions to “save”, “love”, and “squeeze” our breasts totally discount the actual women to whom said breasts are attached. The implication that the breasts are somehow more important than the woman is appalling.
Furthermore, the notion of “saving” a woman’s breasts, especially if cancer is present, is nearly impossible. Reconstruction is an option, as is choosing to forego reconstruction altogether. The trauma of a mastectomy is often amplified by treatment and further so by the reconstruction process, so it…
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I don’t go out much, obviously. I write a blog post 5 days a week and have my social life at work all day. This was the party to end all parties!
For more than ten years my friend and “hair doctor”, Jen, has held an annual Halloween Party. Halloween is her holiday and she plans a year in advance. It isn’t just a costume party, it’s a themed event. Center pieces are crafted, invitations are hand-made, her costume rivals most Broadway Show’s attire and she saves and builds on it over the 12 months before it occurs. A hall is rented, the guest list is huge and she pays for the whole thing. This year she scaled back in some ways and opted for a Murder Mystery Dinner.
I am ashamed to say, though I am always invited and later marveled at her photos of past year’s parties, I…
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I have been in a bit of a tizzy of late. I have found myself wandering the aisles of the supermarket, looking at the meat. Wandering with desire but little intent. The Wife has warned me off any random acts of meat buying. So, no matter how attractive the deal or how delicious the cut, I have been abstemious. My lunchtime walks around the Sandyford Business District have been a torture. “Look, but don’t buy.” has been the watchword. Home in the evening for ‘a nice bit of fish’ or ‘some healthy chicken’. I have had an unpleasant form of meat anxiety. I have been fretful and perspiring, in need of a good meat fix. That was until tonight.
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