Lilly and Me: Separation Anxiety

After about 20 minutes, I felt my fragile sense of calm begin to dissipate, and the world around me started to spin. I fought back a bout of nausea and fumbled to get my phone from my pocket. Dialing, I put the phone to my ear, still scanning the woods and listening for the jingle of her collar.

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Lilly and Me

If one of my neighbors were to have looked out their bedroom window last Saturday morning around 7:15, here’s what they would have seen: Me, dressed in sweatpants, a gray fleece and moccasin slippers, sprinting across my lawn and around the block, an empty leash in hand.

‘Jim and Andy’ and learning to live with your worst inner critic

I’ve always struggled to articulate my feelings about Jim Carrey. While I’ve enjoyed most of his movies — “Dumb and Dumber,” “The Truman Show,” “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” etc. — something about him, as an actor, has always rubbed me the wrong way. The zany, over-the-top antics, the obnoxious lilt in his voice as he bellows yet another “Alllrighty then,” his borderline insufferable disregard for human decency or restraint — call me cynical, but it all seems a bit much.

College nomads: Moving out and moving on

When my brother and I were home for Easter, my mom welcomed us with bowls of Raisin Bran and big mugs of decaffeinated tea, long hugs that started with her telling us how good it was to have us home,  even just for 24 hours, and that ended with a kiss on the cheek. She let my brother fall asleep in the recliner and let me take the last granola bar in the pantry. She bent the old rules and put our dishes in the dishwasher for us when we, so used to dining halls and drive-thrus, forgot. But she had one firm request of us before we headed back to Oxford: Stop by the house.

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