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I miss Maggie most when I have a great leftover like this mornings cheese omelet. I would never have to explain why it was a leftover, or worry that she wouldn't like it.
Winning Christmas
This is the year I was going to win Christmas. Our house would be just like my aunt’s house in Mississippi when I was growing up. The house where you were afraid to touch anything. That’s what good taste means to me—the ability to make everyone else feel that they’ve done everything wrong. The feeling that you’re only supposed to whisper. As a grandparent, thats just what I wanted. Just one year in my life, I wanted our house to be so fancy it made kids scared. With awe. Except now I realize that the reason I used to decorate the house like crazy is the kids. After waiting years and years and years to finally get rid of the kids, it turns out they were of some use at Christmas. I decorated for them. Basically I didn’t care what the neighbors thought of our house—I cared what the kids thought! Who Knew? Unfortunately, decorating is one of those housewife things that I feel competitive about. Just once I wanted to look like a catalogue with an elegant table and
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