Category: Memoir (page 1 of 18)

Bone Marrow Luges & The Night That Was Supposed To Be Wild

What was supposed to be a grand, long night of shenanigans ended as a leisurely dinner eating cheesy cauliflower. We were home by eight and I fell asleep by ten, watching Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha have a much wilder night than I.

Last year I wrote a post called “31 Feels Like Getting Really Excited About Trying Out A New Broom.” Upon moving into our new house, I found myself getting really excited about using a new plunger and figure the same applies to 32.

When I was young, my parents used to warn me that time flies infinitely faster when you get older. I thought this was weird and didn’t believe them. If there’s anything I do know with every fiber of my being, it’s that time does pass by faster when you’re older. It just does.

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Adventures At The DMV

If you drive and have never moved to a different state, there’s one thing you probably take for granted.

Your drivers license.

When you live in the same state, you simply renew your license and plates mail. When you move, it’s a different story.

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An Essay On Buying A Very Old House

My friend recently compared owning a 100-year old house to caring for an elderly person.

She’s right.

“Can you remind me, again, why we bought a 100-year old house?” I asked Jake as the downstairs banister fell off into my hands.

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My First Airbnb Experience: Finding The Good

“Find the good.”

This plaque greeted me when I walked into the bathroom of my Airbnb suite. I felt very taken with it.

I’m not sure if it’s a result of my upper Midwestern upbringing, but I struggle accepting gifts. “But are you sure?” I always find myself asking when someone offers me something for nothing. I’d hate to inconvenience someone, you know? Not inconveniencing people was like our golden rule growing-up.

For example, I was always under the impression that accepting seconds from a host or hostess who cooked a meal  was inconveniencing them out of leftovers. My perspective changed when I hosted a dinner party. I felt elated when my guests returned for seconds. It meant that they enjoyed the food and this made me happy. I couldn’t have even cared if they cleaned-out the crock-pot.

Just this past month, I booked a room through Airbnb in Iowa City. For a very reasonable price, my accommodations included a private bedroom and bathroom suite inside a family’s home. I had never used Airbnb before and expected my hostesses to be relatively hands-off. While they respected my privacy, they also offered me everything under the sun to make my stay more comfortable and welcomed me with the warmth I’d expect from old friends. One of the hostesses reflected on their Airbnb experience, sharing that they’ve been fortunate. Everyone who has booked with them has brought good into their lives.

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There’s No Irony In My Uff Da

If only I had a dollar for every time my parents made us listen to their cassette tape copy of How To Talk Minnesotan.

Actually they made everyone who came over to our house listen to How To Talk Minnesotan. Even if they had come over many times before. My mom would just listen and laugh her head off; it was like each time was their first.

Growing-up, I didn’t think much of my accent because we all had one.

In addition to pronouncing our often parodied “O’s,” we called soda, “pop,” ordered cream cheese wontons at Chinese restaurants, and played Duck Duck Grey Duck on the school playground. College was my first time living out of Minnesota. It’s not like I even moved that far, merely one state down. But it wasn’t until we had to participate those silly college orientation games that I learned most people play Duck Duck Goose.

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