Dad threw out my ZooBooks

I think it’s part of growing up here, part of Life in These United States (as Reader’s Digest might put it) – a rite of passage as it were. We all remember that day when we were sitting in our rooms minding our own business, and then out of nowhere dad comes storming in with a look of ire on his face, says to you “I’ve had enough of this tiger shit” and gathers up all of your ZooBooks and throws them in the garbage, forbidding you from fishing them out. But dad all I wanted to do was learn about these beautiful animals you said, as tears filled your eyes. Don’t go crying to your mother either, he said, I already told her this was going to happen like it or not and she isn’t going to save your precious ZooBooks this time. But daddy please can I at least keep the one with the zebras on the cover you pleaded, because that was the one that also had a three-page article on toucans with some really nice pictures, and your dad said for Christ’s sakes you’re a 28 year old man, get the hell out of my house and find a job already.


Je ne sais pas ce qui s’est passé, ce qui s’est passé, cela fait si longtemps. Je devrais être guéri maintenant mais je ne peux même pas voir nos amis car tout revient, tout a basculé, un stress incontrôlable, un vide dans l’estomac, tout le monde me manque, y compris toi. Pourquoi as-tu fait ça, je ne sais pas quoi faire.

I almost sent this to you

Til dig,

I first met you when I was sixteen and I paid no attention to you for eight years. Eight years I have known you and never once before now had I considered you as anything but my friend. And then one September night we danced until 3 am, long after the party was over. And then in November, you watched the sky waiting to see Northern Lights while I watched you.


Every day I make space for a few daily gratitudes. Things that I value and miss when they’re lost, a nice warm shower, a pillow that’s soft, food for the soul and a healthy body. When company is good, I like that too and I’m grateful for kindness and all forms of its beauty. Some days are better than the others, but I’m grateful for hearth and I’m grateful for shelter. As a maiden I was wreckless, impervious as Iron. As a mother I’m of a more firm mentality,guarded and grateful of the days that end smoothly, a drill sergeant of sorts, but I find they don’t mind, I’m grateful for the I love yous that temper my mind.I’m grateful for the time and grateful for the place. I’m grateful for the order, when it is not always so.