Wordsmoker

You might recall my reminiscing about Saturday Mornings with my mother:  our weekly ritual wherein she would don her sequined cape and disco-pied-piper my sister and I into spit-shining the whole apartment from top to bottom. This was all well and good when I was ten, but today, my mother’s impending arrival after a two-year hiatus is downright paralyzing. I have torn apart every room in the house, painted and rearranged furniture. The place is literally upside-down. Why do I do this to myself, you might ask. Good question. Read the rest of this entry →