I embarrass my husband. It’s true, I do. It’s not my weight. My table manners. My political opinions or even my high-pitched snorting laugh. It’s gotten to the point he won’t be seen in public with me – or to be more precise – he won’t go for walks with me. The path I take,
Blame it on the state of the world. Blame it on the folks in Washington, D.C. Blame it on my children or my husband (my personal default fault mode). Whatever the cause, I have long yearned for moral clarity and distinct boundaries between right and wrong. I am tired of gray, of ambiguity, of uncertainty.
In the old days, my husband and I disagreed about desert vs. mountain locales, city vs. more pastoral settings. Should we live in Las Vegas or Reno? Nevada or New York City or at least Washington, D.C.? Somehow we navigated our way through the difficult marital waters of very different lifestyles and career paths and
Do you remember Cat Stevens? If you are middle-aged, you undoubtedly do. And if you liked folk/rock music, you undoubtedly loved Cat Stevens. Well, I am middle-aged and I loved Cat Stevens. I loved him more than Gordon Lightfoot, on whom I had a slight musical crush. And I probably loved him more than the
Growing up in Las Vegas, surrounded by exaggerated showgirl images of womanly perfection, a girl gets a harsh sense of her own physical imperfections. Growing up anywhere in America, bombarded by plastic surgery-altered images of celebrities, a woman gets a clear image of a possible path to physical perfection or at least improvement. In my
And other Signs you’re not as young as you think you are.
“Are you still sexually active?” “Excuse me?” “Are you still sexually active?” repeated the gynecologist, peering up and around my legs. Why? I worried silently. Was she finding something ‘down there’ to indicate I wasn’t or shouldn’t be? “Of course, I am,” I replied sharply, snapping my legs together to signal an end to that
https://muddling.me/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/dried-flowers-1149191_640.jpg425640Karen Galatzhttps://muddling.me/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/kg-logo.pngKaren Galatz2017-05-05 09:05:022024-07-18 10:17:52Are You Still Sexually Active?
I Embarrass My Husband
The Subject is Flowers
I embarrass my husband. It’s true, I do. It’s not my weight. My table manners. My political opinions or even my high-pitched snorting laugh. It’s gotten to the point he won’t be seen in public with me – or to be more precise – he won’t go for walks with me. The path I take,
From Broadway to Basketball
How I Went Head Over Heels for Hoops
Blame it on the state of the world. Blame it on the folks in Washington, D.C. Blame it on my children or my husband (my personal default fault mode). Whatever the cause, I have long yearned for moral clarity and distinct boundaries between right and wrong. I am tired of gray, of ambiguity, of uncertainty.
Your Dessert or Mine
Caloric Choices Create Marital Mayhem!
In the old days, my husband and I disagreed about desert vs. mountain locales, city vs. more pastoral settings. Should we live in Las Vegas or Reno? Nevada or New York City or at least Washington, D.C.? Somehow we navigated our way through the difficult marital waters of very different lifestyles and career paths and
The Cat Conundrum
When Music Mixes with Politics, Which Wins?
Do you remember Cat Stevens? If you are middle-aged, you undoubtedly do. And if you liked folk/rock music, you undoubtedly loved Cat Stevens. Well, I am middle-aged and I loved Cat Stevens. I loved him more than Gordon Lightfoot, on whom I had a slight musical crush. And I probably loved him more than the
My Pain-free, Nonsurgical Facelift
Growing up in Las Vegas, surrounded by exaggerated showgirl images of womanly perfection, a girl gets a harsh sense of her own physical imperfections. Growing up anywhere in America, bombarded by plastic surgery-altered images of celebrities, a woman gets a clear image of a possible path to physical perfection or at least improvement. In my
Are You Still Sexually Active?
And other Signs you’re not as young as you think you are.
“Are you still sexually active?” “Excuse me?” “Are you still sexually active?” repeated the gynecologist, peering up and around my legs. Why? I worried silently. Was she finding something ‘down there’ to indicate I wasn’t or shouldn’t be? “Of course, I am,” I replied sharply, snapping my legs together to signal an end to that