I’m Allergic to Being Allergic

I used to make fun of kids in gifted class because of their allergies (behind their backs, of course). Paybacks are a bitch. That’s what I have to say about that.

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Anglophile For Life

I don’t think I’ve ever met a more ardent, dedicated Anglophile than Katie Riegel. She means it. I mean really, really means it. She even married an Englishman! No matter that she had to relocate to Memphis to be with her very own Prince Andrew. They recently spent a month away, mostly in England, but Scotland and France, too. One could enjoy this photo essay for the photos alone, but the commentary adds so much. (Isn’t it fitting that her last name is pronounced “Regal?”)

Katie is a poet, and her prose is poetic. She was previously married, to a wonderful man we all admire and love, and during the end of the marriage, she wrote the book, “Letters to Colin Firth.” In them, she ponders and describes her journey through the end of the marriage (one in which she is still good friends with her ex) and the beginning of her connection with Andrew, her English husband. She writes with Colin Firth in mind as her ideal reader or, perhaps, confidante. (Because don’t we tell strangers things we don’t tell to those close to us?) If you’re interested in “Letters to Colin Firth,” by all means click on this link.

In the meantime, enjoy this photo essay. It is, as Brits say, “Brilliant.”

By Katie Riegel

Yes, my friends, I went to England this summer. I went during July, when the temperatures in Memphis were sweltering in the humid 90s. I went with my husband, who is English, and we visited his fam…

Source: Anglophile For Life

How Can We Get There?

by Katie Riegel

 

I recently got back from vacation (see my last post!) and one of my friends, as friends will, asked how I was readjusting to being home. I said, “On vacation, every day was about planning how much …

Source: How Can We Get There?

 

I recently got back from vacation (see my last post!) and one of my friends, as friends will, asked how I was readjusting to being home. I said, “On vacation, every day was about planning how much fun to pack into the day. I wish every day was about that still.”

My friend said, “So how does every day become about how much fun you can pack in? How can we get there?”

Whoa.

It’s easy to blow off a question like that, to jokepermanent vacation or win the lottery orheavy drug use. It’s easy to give up, to accept the “real world” in which vacation is supposed to be different from regular life—the dessert, as it were, to regular life’s green beans and white meat.

But what if we actually think about the question?

I believe, passionately, in asking the questions. I believe in all the uncomfortable pushing and pulling and cutting and sewing involved in making a life.