Looking back with Lot's Wife

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I was held against my will at the Salt Lake Whole Foods store last week. Delicious food weaves its spell and human beings must fall prey to their lust for organic, aged, imported products. Or I’m saying they do, for the sake of my argument. I went there, innocently, hoping to find sour cherries to make a pie for my beloved, but pretty much ignored husband who for some idiot reason I told I could make any flavor pie. Like I was a cook, like the only thing stopping us from feeling like the dwarves coming home to Snow White was just a little creativity. When we got married, he said his favorite dessert was pie and I said, “My darling, we will always have pie.” Then I got pregnant and started throwing up and we memorized the McDonald’s menu and that’s how we got along for the next upteen years. We ate kid food, even when the kids weren’t here. And now here I was at the epicenter of adult food: sharp cheddar cheese, homem

I’m on day three of this bird dying in my house. It’s in the air ducts, in possibly the most unreachable place ever (my husband says it’s in the walls) and I am going crazy. I can only take SO MUCH PAIN! Why is this happening to me? I feel so bad. Okay, full disclosure, there is also a bird in our downstairs stove, dead, that no one wants to take out. It too fell victim to our duct system. It’s covered with ashes and totally dried out. My granddaughter discovered it one day opening the stove door. We never use that stove; it’s like one of those things you put in for the last days when we’re all going to be huddled down in the basement for the nuclear winter and we don’t want to freeze to death. Or go without popcorn. Whichever. Birds have landed in our vents before but I’ve always been able to scare them out, catch them in a bath towel and set them free to be eaten by hawks. The cats keep prowling around the furnace closet. They recognize the sound