The cows are crying. (not a sentence I ever imagined writing)
A few times a year, our little street echoes with the bellows and moans and outright wails of distressed cows. This means that one of our farmer neighbors has separated the mamas and babies, presumably so that the babies can go to be auctioned.
The sounds of the cows are heartbreaking. I doubt they know that their babies are likely destined for a slaughterhouse, but change on any level is hard.
Continue reading “The Cows Are Crying”
I remember the School Lunch chapter from the very first time I read this book. I didn’t get it. Maybe I still don’t. Lamott says school lunches are full of the same longings and dynamics and anxieties for everyone, even if the school setting is different.
Well, maybe it’s an East Coast/West Coast thing, but the experiences she writes about – what was acceptable (bologna, pb&J) mattered and you were ostracized for bringing smelly, wrong things (which often happened if your father made your sandwich)—those didn’t bring any sense of recognition for me. I remember basically zero about elementary school lunch period.
Continue reading “Book Club: School Lunches and Polaroids”
My Life in Paragraphs 