Sort of Like Mayberry

In this sleepy lakeside town where I’ve got my writing retreat, the firehouse blares a whistle every noon. It’s lovely. It’s a sound of my youth. Yesterday, it didn’t go off. I call my grandma every day, if for no other reason than to tell her the color of the lake, and last night, we speculated that the firehouse didn’t blare the whistle because they forgot to spring ahead, and then got too embarrassed to correct themselves. Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, that siren went off at exactly midnight. And from across the lake, I swear I could almost hear somebody shouting, “Dang it, Eddie! You’re fired!”

(Originally posted March 14, 2016)

Meanwhile, on Wisteria Lane…

So yesterday I told my grandma that a neighbor had dropped by, unannounced, and that I was embarrassed because I’d been doing my yoga while wearing baggy, sweaty things. Fine. My grandparents had dinner with my mom last night, and my grandma told her about how “Megan was flustered and annoyed, because Dave —- dropped by, right while she was doing her yogi.”

I love my grandma. I love her to bits. This is how rumors get started.

(Originally posted March 1, 2016)

Gonna Be a Heartache Tonight

My dream started with a real-enough situation. In my English class, the students have to google themselves while they write their practice resume. It never hurts to know. In my dream, I googled myself in solidarity with the students–and I found a video. It was a grainy, surveillance film from the Taco Bell that’s way south on St. Petersburg, Florida’s Highway 19. It showed an extremely drunk Megan singing “Peaceful, Easy Feelin'” at the top of her lungs, to none other than Glen Frey, who was just trying to eat his chalupa. Apparently, I was appalled that he was eating at Taco Hell, as I called it. I paused between verses, reached into my front jeans pocket, and handed him half a chicken McNugget. 

That’s all that was on the tape.  I looked from the google, to James. I said, “I don’t remember this at all!” And he said, “Well, you were pretty blotto. And we decided it was best not to tell you.” I thought of all the authority I try to establish on the first day of class–all of it felled by alcohol, easy listening, and a chalupa.

(Originally posted February 22, 2016)


Sometimes, when I pet my cat, he sits tall and slits his eyes, and looks for all the world as if he’s accepting what is due him. He purrs. He looks very regal. And I think, well, isn’t love due him? I’m beginning to think that the dignity that we find in every creature simply boils down to the right to be loved.

(Originally posted February 4, 2016)