Lori Duff Writes
I remember being a little kid and being stuck at the grownup’s table. We might have been at a restaurant or at someone else’s house, but somewhere where retreating to my own space wasn’t an option. I remember wanting to feel included in this grownup world, wishing I had something to contribute to the conversation,…
My daughter is a freshman at college. She is 800 miles away from home in a completely different type of environment. She has gone from the semi-rural south to metropolitan Philadelphia, from the buckle of the Bible belt to a liberal women’s college. It’s good for her, I think, to see that the world is…
The other day, comedienne Leighann Lord tweeted out the following oh-so-profound statement: “I’m no longer interested in productivity being the measure of my humanity.”[1] That struck me like a lightning bolt, and I thought, Yeah. I am more than the sum total of my output. I waste so much mental energy judging my days (and…
My husband often accuses me of spoiling our dog. He says this because I allow him to sleep on my feet and lick my hands and sometimes I give him a treat just because I feel like giving him a treat. But here’s the thing: I may get more out of Lincoln being a foot…
Raising children is entertaining, if you can manage to take a step back from dirty diapers, dirty dishes, and dirty words coming out of formerly innocent mouths. Each stage of the parenting game has its own quirks. My little baby son called blueberries “boobabies” and that was cute. My kindergarten daughter got in a spat…
In my last column I wrote about what a dream it was to travel with my group of sorority sisters, all of whom are, in addition to being kind and funny and smart and entertaining, women who are capable of functioning at all levels and accomplishing all tasks without being asked. Now, having been back…
Once upon a time, I was a teenager. And that teenager went to college and did the whole sorority rush thing and made a whole bunch of friends she called sisters. Now, thirty *cough cough* some-odd years later, that group of teenage girls has transformed into a group of accomplished middle-aged women who are still…
Summer is conference season. Every week in June, and several weeks in July, I am going to somebody’s annual get-together. It doesn’t matter where. The conference could be in Paris, France or Armpit, Arkansas or the moon for all I care. All conference rooms look more or less the same on the inside. All that…
It’s no secret that but for my regular trips to the Brazilian Wax shop near me, I could have a second career as the bearded lady in a Victorian-era circus. I’m so, erm, Eastern European that I should probably weigh myself before and after trips to visit Roberta. I went to see her the other…
There are no more children in my house, unless you count the dog, who is 21 in dog years anyway, or my husband, who has the maturity of a middle schooler, but is actually old enough for Medicare. I feel weird about this. Really weird. I’m proud of my children, don’t get me wrong, but…