My grandfather was a physician, a fixer of the highest order. He operated on stomachs and hearts, limbs and intestines, because in his day, specialists were rare, and general practitioners were operating-room fixtures. He built things at home, too. His basement workshop was heaped with tools on an ugly, practical worktable.… Read the rest
I’m driven by music; I grew up vibrating in four-four time. I never believed in love, probably because I always imagined I’d fuck my life up by getting together with a musician. Instead I lucked into this academic who isn’t a big fan of concerts and guitars, who anchors me instead with the kind of harmony that doesn’t need sound.
He understands how I thrive on the other, though.
Last year on our anniversary, Scott stayed home with the kids so I could drive to Birmingham and see The Head and the Heart.… Read the rest
The chocolate rose you gave me sat on my desk untouched. I wanted to eat it. My God, I’d married a man who thought I deserved holiday treats. We’d been dating just shy of four years, we’d been married sixteen months, and I was still gobsmacked by the sight of your stubbly cheeks every morning.… Read the rest