Girl Talk
“Okay, I need you girls to give me some serious volume here. And by the way, I can call you ‘girls’ because Hillary called herself one on TV a few nights ago!”
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Author: Margaret Evans
A Ringing Non-Endorsement
A couple of weeks ago, my mom called me up after supper and told me to turn on CNN. Seems while I’d been scrubbing taco grease from my skillet, the presidential hopefuls from the Democratic Party had been engaging in the first-ever YouTube debate.
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The Boy Who Lived…and Lived…and Lived…
By the time you read this, we’ll have had our Harry Potter books in our hot little hands for several days. While you may have finished yours already, I almost certainly have not; I’m the slow, savoring type. If you see me on the street, hands over my ears, babbling incoherently, looking neither left nor right, please don’t take offense. I’m in lockdown mode ‘til I finish the book, determined to avoid spoilers of any sort. As I began this column, some 48 hours before the book’s release, I was already steering clear of cyberspace, where some scoundrel had reportedly leaked Deathly Hallows days in advance. (That’s vintage Voldemort right there!) My friend K, also a Potterite, is a speed-reading freak of nature. I’m not taking her calls at the moment.
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Thoughts on Reader Rage
Well, I asked for it. Remember when I used to write a lot about my daughter and the joys of motherhood? Sure you do. Some of you actually liked those columns, and, to this day, urge me to return to that topic. Others of you let me know, in ways both kind and not so, that you’d rather read the fine print on your water bill than one more word about my beloved offspring. Fair enough. I finally got the message (we doting moms can be a little thick) and set off for topical ports unknown (not as much fun as tropical ports unknown, but still exciting); I began writing about a host of other issues that seemed important to me. I knew I was wading into murkier, more turbulent waters, and that I might get roughed up a little. But I figured, Hey, once you’ve had someone tell you to ‘shut up already about your freakin’ kid,’ (yes, in those exact words) nothing can touch you.
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Star Power
When you’re a recovering agnostic and fledgling conservative – a Neo Fuddy Duddy, as my husband lovingly puts it (NeoFud for short) – it’s not easy to find a support group. In many ways, you’re still very much like your liberal, secularist friends. (I try not to stereotype, but in my experience, those traits do tend to go together.) But in some pretty crucial ways, you’re completely different, and they understandably think you’ve lost your mind. Oh, there are plenty of conservative Christians who are happy to welcome you into the fold, and that’s great, but you don’t fit in with them so well, either. Most of them – or maybe it just seems this way – have been conservatives and Christians forever, and are comfortable in that identity. They don’t know where you’ve come from, what you’ve come through to get where they’ve always been, nor do they care how they (or you) are perceived by your liberal, secularist friends, whose opinions you still very much value.
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Of Time & Tide
Due to a family health scare, I spent way too much time last week in hospital rooms and not nearly enough at my computer. I’m grateful to report that we came through the crisis and all is well with the Evans clan. But unfortunately, there was no time for column writing. (Believe it or not, it can take days to achieve that “just thinkin’ out loud” effect!) So I’ve gone through my archives and come up with a piece from last summer that, while not exactly a “timeless classic,” seems fairly recyclable. An acquaintance of mine who doesn’t like my politics but does like my writing told me, at a recent cocktail party, that it’s one of her favorites. So this is for her, and for everyone else who ever took a family beach trip. By the way, I’m off on mine – much needed! – even as you read this… Margaret
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Highlights, Holdups & Other Girlish Pursuits
Remember the Barbie Bandits – the two blonde babes who robbed an Atlanta area bank a few months ago, captured by a surveillance camera sporting designer jeans, Nicole Richie shades, perky ponytails and vapid smiles? Well, you may have been following this story faithfully, but I’d forgotten about it until last week, when I stumbled upon an online video interview with one of the alleged criminals. Apparently, the Bandits have been arrested and charged, and are now out on bail, living with their parents as they await trial
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The New True Believers
Despite our solemn, heartfelt vow to cleave to each other and “become one” my husband and I, like most spouses, are not always of a mind. One thing that’s really been sticking in Jeff’s craw lately (besides the fact that I continually mention him in this column) is my failure to demonstrate proper alarm over global warming.
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When Reading was Fundamental
I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. Book reading! Though I always manage to squeeze in magazines and newspapers (short-term commitments, right?), my quality time with books tends to wax and wane according to my schedule, energy level, and general mood. So I’m happy to say that, currently, I am on a roll.
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Cold Comfort
Last issue, in celebration of Easter, I wrote about my recent return to the church – something I did for mostly practical reasons – and the unexpected spiritual awakening that’s ensued. As I anticipated, I’ve had lots of positive feedback from my church-going readers and virtual silence from everyone else. (Though my husband’s long-time friend out in San Francisco did call to offer Jeff her moral support after reading the column!) I’m touched by the wonderful response I’ve received from so many fellow travelers, and not terribly hurt by the others, who are, after all, just being polite in their silence. It’s not like I expected to inspire a mass conversion among the academics, artists, and assorted secular humanists about town, many of whom I count as my friends. As much as I value them, my growing awareness of God is genuine and profound, with or without their endorsement.
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Celebrate with Catering by Debbi Covington
