My Private Summer of Love

mlalonde — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 11:51:24 -0400

In July and August of 1980, a few months shy of 16, I decided to get rid of my virginity with my first real boyfriend, a handsome bad boy with an adult voice and a juvenile record. Just to make sure it was really and truly gone, we had sex whenever and wherever we could: In the car, in the swimming pool, in my room, at his house. Those steamy Louisiana days and sauna evenings before curfew weren’t enough. Once the central air loudly cranked on and my parents couldn’t hear, I’d creak open my window and crawl out into dense night.

I Once Was Lost

mlalonde — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 01:24:28 -0400

I was driving with my daughters about a year ago, trying to find a new friend’s house. After several turns through an endless suburban neighborhood, I was beginning to doubt the veracity of my MapQuest directions when my eldest daughter piped up from the back, “Mom, are we lost again?”

“Lost?” I repeated. “Again?! Of course not, silly! We’re just…misplaced!”

River Talk

mlalonde — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 01:11:23 -0400

I read somewhere that we remember just five minutes of what we learn in high school. My memorable five minutes took place during an 11th grade English class when we discussed the symbolism of the river in Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha.

“The river looked at him with a thousand eyes—green, white, crystal, sky blue. How he loved this river, how it enchanted him, how grateful he was to it! In his heart, he heard the newly awakened voice speak, and it said to him, ‘Love this river. Stay by it. Learn from it.’”

Out On My Own

mlalonde — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 00:24:31 -0400

I parked my car and walked with my laptop, handbag and rolling suitcase to the registration dorm, map in hand. Looking around, I saw a beautiful campus, anchored by rusted red brick buildings (the color of chunks that used to hang on the belly of my dad’s 15-year-old diesel truck) with apricot-colored trim, and freshly mowed green lawns. A clock tower stood proudly in the center of campus, and a fountain trickled as I walked past. Locating the registration dorm, I entered, stood at the back of the line and glanced at the other students around me.

A New Spin

mlalonde — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 00:16:03 -0400

Three days, two wheels, one woman. The ratio is perfect. I’ve stashed the kids at summer camp, left my husband at home, and stolen away, headed for the hills. I’ve got my bike, a few books, a bottle of wine and the Blue Ridge Parkway, and with only empty hours and empty road ahead of me, I can breathe again. Ah, the pine-scented mountain air, shaken free of humidity and responsibility.

The Long and Grinding Road

mlalonde — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 00:06:17 -0400

I live in Southern Appalachia, a region where curb proximity is often valued as much as curb appeal. Given this, I wasn’t surprised when a friend’s first question about my new house was, “How long does it take you to go out and get your mail?” I admitted that the task required taking a little hike. Concerned, she inquired, “Can you at least see the mailbox from your house?” I can’t see the mailbox from my house, my front porch or even the end of my driveway.

Am I My Mother's Feminist?

mlalonde — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 23:52:29 -0400

Perhaps inciting even more outrage in feminist communities this election cycle than the sexist cable news coverage of Hillary Clinton were the so-called intergenerational feminist wars: the alleged electoral disagreements between older feminists and younger feminists. Nowhere does intergenerational feminism become more painful and more complex than in its most literal and personal setting—when feminism intersects a mother- daughter relationship.

Let Go of Your Legal Pad

mlalonde — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 23:46:06 -0400

On August 28, 2007, as I cleaned Cheerios off the kitchen floor for the 59th time, and just after the contents of a 12.5 fluid ounce glass bottle of maple syrup were ceremoniously unleashed onto that same floor by a 42” tall human tornado named Tess, I happened to look out the window into my backyard as I held the small of my back and stood up again.

Riding Lessons

mlalonde — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 23:37:33 -0400

On a nondescript Tuesday in October, instead of sitting behind my desk, I was galloping across the Colorado Elk River Valley on a muscular steed, its hoofs thundering below me. In my mind I was sure I did not resemble the graceful horsewoman that I had been trying to become all week. Instead, to the others, I’m sure I looked more like I was on the back of a runaway freight train holding on for dear life. I kept catching air between the horse’s stride, smacking down hard in the leather. Bam! Bam! Bam!

Dream Time

mlalonde — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 23:16:15 -0400

For the last two weeks, the sky here where I live in northern California has been white with ash, the sun a vivid orange orb suspended on a milky horizon. A thousand fires are burning. I walk outdoors in the morning, just as we all do, sniffing the smoky air, thinking of the people who have lost their homes, of the firefighters working day after day to contain the blazes, the animals displaced. On the news, we are instructed not to go outside, for the air is full of hazardous debris.