by marionroach on February 17, 2010
I LIVE ON A GRID. I call it The Grid. It’s a character in our lives to some extent, and everyone who knows it makes fun of it, and I’m good with that. Printed on a large white board, written in erasable dry marker, The Grid sits on my desk, in full view as I write, mapping out the seven days of my week and how I live them. On it is written even the incidentals—“walk the dog,” “stretch,”—as well as the truly important chunks of my life, like “write,” “meet the bus,” and “gym.” [click to continue…]
by marionroach on February 16, 2010
THE NEW MOON was February 13th, and as I do at each new moon, I changed diets. Why? Because it seems to control my otherwise crazy hormone-related mood swings. And twinges. And joint pain, and any former inflammation-related flare-ups. And I do this whether or not anyone else believes in this. I do it for me. My best friend gives me a lot of grief about this. He swears it can’t work. He swears it’s crazy, but he’s not a woman, so he doesn’t know what a little moon shine can do for a woman. And when will I change to my other diet? On the Full Snow Moon, of course, the full moon of February, which this year occurs on February 28. Want to know more? It’s all right here.
by marionroach on February 10, 2010
WHERE I COME FROM, the word “salad” means lettuce. Perhaps that lettuce will be accompanied by onions, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, crumbled cheese, or all of the above, but lettuce—and I believe I speak for all my homepeople when I say this—would be the foundation of all things “salad.” And, being a New Yorker, I went along thinking my way was the highway until fate stepped in and threw a man in my path some 21 years ago who, when he said “salad,” was speaking a different tongue. So we got married, and mixed things up. [click to continue…]
by marionroach on February 5, 2010
DANCING ON TABLETOPS? And why not? On February 5, 1959 Marilyn Monroe, Karen Blixen, and Carson McCullers had lunch. Oh yeah, Arthur Miller was there, too. Taking place in Nyack, New York, the event was hosted by McCullers in honor of the great Karen Blixen, whose pen name, of course, is Isak Dinesen (Out of Africa). The menu consisted of soufflé, oysters, grapes and champagne. After lunch there was dancing. On the table top. On the solid marble table top, to be specific. Or so I’ve read. And I love every word.
by marionroach on February 3, 2010
SOMETIMES I CAN BE SUBTLE. And while no particular incident of that comes to mind right now, I maintain that I can be. Sometimes. I’m sure of it. Though never when teaching memoir writing, and so I know for certain that I was not a bit subtle in a recent class when I simply declared a total moratorium on the self-congratulatory. Let me explain.
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by marionroach on February 2, 2010
MUCH LIKE A PARTY at my house, the party in my mouth only goes well when some forethought is given to who sits next to whom. Chocolate and peanut butter? Hate ‘em as a couple; love ‘em alone, which is the same damn thing I frequently hear myself say about many of my friends.
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by marionroach on January 29, 2010
REDHEADS IN THE KITCHEN could be what Milton had in mind when he coined the phrase “adding fuel to the flame,” or perhaps what Shakespeare was pondering when penning “add flame to the fire.” Inviting a redhead into the kitchen certainly does add heat to the place, as well as color. I’ve always known that, though if you need confirmation, you have only to look at the online redheads in the kitchen to see what I mean. [click to continue…]
by marionroach on January 27, 2010
STOP FORWARDING ME EMAILS composed by some anonymous person about how much women love their sisters-friends. Do not do that. I know you’re busy. We’re all busy, so that’s no excuse. You want to tell a sister you love her? Fill her heart with song. Send her the song that you shared, stomach down, ankles crossed, lying on her canopied bed while you wondered aloud if someone would ever ever ever love you like James loved Suzanne. Send her the song you learned to teach one another your dance steps, or while you practiced making out against the mirror, or driving back to college. Or… [click to continue…]
by marionroach on January 27, 2010
WHEN I READ SISTER ANASTASIA’S “Tips for Single Ladies (c. 1938)” today, all could hear in my head was the lyric to some long-ago song: “You must walk feminine/Talk feminine/Smile and beguile feminine/Utilize your femininity/That’s what every girl should know/if she wants to catch a beau.” Turns out it’s a 1963 Hayley Mills relic. When I sang it for the TSP women, they all got real silent. Can’t understand it. Hasn’t every woman watched every single Hayley Mills movie and memorized every song? I know I have.
by marionroach on January 21, 2010
THERE ARE TWO QUESTIONS no husband or partner should ask a woman, and both begin with “How many?” Both inquiries are gasoline on the fire that is a woman’s soul, and while neither question should ever be either asked or answered, I’m sure you’ll agree on which of the two is far more deeply private, far more tied up in secrecy, and way more important to the ongoing health of any relationship. That’s right, sister: it’s the question that ends in the word “shoes.” [click to continue…]
I LIVE ON A GRID. I call it The Grid. It’s a character in our lives to some extent, and everyone who knows it makes fun of it, and I’m good with that. Printed on a large white board, written in erasable dry marker, The Grid sits on my desk, in full view as I write, mapping out the seven days of my week and how I live them. On it is written even the incidentals—“walk the dog,” “stretch,”—as well as the truly important chunks of my life, like “write,” “meet the bus,” and “gym.” [click to continue…]
First time here? Here's the idea: 
No surprise, really, that sisterhood, often life’s longest relationship and always one of its most important, has been the Muse for so much creative self-expression by women, and also by men. 
As the suffix of its name suggests, 
