Portfolio

"Up" by Life Without Taffy

At the end of my sleep the other night, I had a discussion in a dream about symbols. I was talking with a faceless young man, and I think we were designing a website or a flyer or a sign. It needed something to convey a message, and I suggested an arrow. He scoffed, “I hate arrows!” The dreaming me responded, “But, I love arrows...” a sentiment that was news to the conscious me, as I watched the conversation fade to black on the insides of my opening eyelids.

My doctor propped her elbow on the exam table and rubbed her temple with her thumb. “Life is hard,” she said. I was sitting in a chair across from her, elbows on the exam table, too. “Yeah,” I winced, “and I don’t know if the pills are helping.” We shared a silent moment, looking each other in the eyes. She’s a cancer survivor. A mother. My doctor for two years, and the first physician to ever treat me like a friend. “I’m cutting the prescription in half until the specialist gives you a diagnosis.”

Jesus was the Elvis of ancient Jerusalem. Or the Lady Gaga, for you kids. Lots of people knew about him and they walked a LONG way for a mere touch of his robe, or a simple glimpse of him from a distance. They were fans; he was everybody’s Jesus. Some people would say he still is, because he’s not dead. That’s cool. I like to think Jesus lives on just as Marilyn Monroe lives on - as a great story.

Turns out beauty is expensive -- Who knew, right? ... So yeah, if your teenager is all gaga for glam, you can send him (yes, him) to a decent cosmetology school for about what you'd pay to send him to community college. Just cross your fingers he'll stick it out through all the unpretty parts. I didn't.