MODERN IFIGENIA

A few weeks ago I started to have doubts as to whether I should continue to live in the home I own. I have lived in it for over seven years and have never faltered in my love for this place; It has original stained glass, hardwood floors, all the transoms work, panoramic windows-but it is huge, and made of BRICK . Brick is my favorite exterior across the board, but I am now learning that it costs a lot to repair. As I began to share my homeowner woes with one of my friends, he started to ask a lot of questions that slowly made me wonder if I was actually married to my house. Here is the conversation with literary liberties: Friend: So how come you didn't notice the damage? Me: I have just been so busy for so long that what was a small leak went unnoticed until the wall started to really fall apart. Friend: So what are you going to do? Me: I am thinking of selling it after the repairs, I really can't afford to keep making such expensive repairs, but I love it so much. Fr

I ran across an  essay today and I almost fell apart. It highlighted a truth I knew subconsciously, but had trouble admitting to for along time. I am someone who hates being photographed, and after the end of my marriage, I realized I was in very few of the photographs we took; maybe 5 over an 8 year period. Keep in mind we traveled to Alaska, Kenya, Paris, London, Ireland, Jamaica, Venezuela, etc. so at the very least there should have been some photos of me in those places. I had long attributed the lack of photographs of myself to my absolute hatred of being photographed. But then I ran out of excuses, over that period of time I noticed that somehow, my friends and family had photographs of me. They captured me when I wasn't looking or when I was laughing so hard, I just couldn't stop them from taking pics. Somehow, the people who wanted me to be a part of their lives found a visual way of making room for me, even against my objections. A few weeks ago a new friend asked

Guy: I think dating you will be good for my health Gal: Really, I'm flattered, but I am not really healthy Guy: Yeah, being around you will help me ward off Alzheimer's Gal: How so? Guy: Well, you say these things that have a logic to them, but are totally nonsense. So it takes my brain quite a bit of work just to understand the things you say. So it's like learning a new language which they say helps fight off Alzheimer's. Gal: What the hell is that supposed to mean? Guy: It means you are the best thing to happen to me.

After a long and tiring day, I step outside with my industrial strength broom. I clearly mean business. I start to sweep, and a guy one block away says: GUY: Hi, how are you doing? (I HEAR "doing" I think he might have actually said "doin'") ME: Good, how are you? GUY: Good, come over ME: I am sweeping GUY: Girl, why don't you just come over so I can check you out? ME: Hand on hip, holding broom upright. I have clearly stopped sweeping. BECAUSE I AM SWEEPING. [END OF NOVEL]