I’ve tried to write about La Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias (The City of Arts and Sciences) before. It’s a rather remarkable collection of buildings (an aquarium, a science center, conference halls) in the center of Valencia, Spain, architecturally fascinating and utterly unlike anything I’ve seen in my travels. I wanted very much to…
The proprietor stands behind the counter, eyeing us warily. “How many do you want?” he asks. Lisa and I look at each other. “Maybe twenty?” she offers tentatively.
Note: I started working on this post a while ago. I delayed publishing it, because it’s about laughing in a cemetery, and the empty void where my heart should be told me that putting that up in the wake of the horrible tragedies we’ve experienced wouldn’t be appropriate. I figured I’d wait until the news…
Yesterday, I left the house without kissing him goodbye. I thought I might wake him if I did that, and I wanted him to sleep, and to delay the moment when he got up and saw the news and wondered what the hell was wrong with us and our country and laws. So…
Dear … um … Crap. I’ll be honest, I didn’t catch your name as it was shouted over your headset. Tamblynn? Is that even a real name? Or just a dehydration-induced hallucination? (And who I am to judge? Geraldine. My name is Geraldine. Thanks a lot, mom. I hope honoring your sister who died in infancy…
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, that was well-trodden and safer and less likely to be the stomping ground of rabid raccoons. Sometimes I think Robert Frost was an idiot. And then I realize that no, it’s just people misinterpreting his words. His most famous poem…
Our last trip to Europe took us to Wicklow, just outside of Dublin, for a few days (before we skipped off to Spain on a rather terrifying Ryan Air flight that will henceforth be referred to as Kegger at 30,000 Feet). Rand’s conference hosted us at the Powerscourt Hotel, which is in the middle of…
My husband always tells me to assume people have good intentions. When I’m frustrated with something someone has said to me, he reminds me not to immediately conclude that they are trying to upset me and then plan an elaborate revenge. The guy who just cut me off in traffic might not have seen me.…
“Dear god,” I told him when I saw the photo. “I look positively predatory.” Rand laughed. “You do,” he agreed. “You look like you are hunting me.”
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Paperback Available March 11th
Also available in hardcover, e-book, and audiobook from these booksellers:
