Five Star Blog Roundup 425: Five Great Posts and an Ann Patchett Quote
This week's Five Star Blog Roundup is brought to you by renewal and recommitment, the insistence of sex, the shape of depression, fitting in, a taxing season, and a quote by Ann Patchett:
Praise and criticism seem to me to operate exactly on the same level. If you get a great review, it's really thrilling for about ten minutes. If you get a bad review, it's really crushing for ten minutes. Either way, you go on.
— Ann Patchett —
"The Endless Gift of Reinvention" by Jan Wilberg at Red's Wrap:
My husband’s best friend (and a dear friend to me as well) came to visit before Christmas. He sat on a kitchen chair while I was cooking and asked me if I was retired. “Yes, no, sort of.” He looked at me, waiting. “I look at it this way,” I said. “I have about ten years to become remarkable.” He laughed but when I said that I felt full of possibility and promise like I did when I walked out of that lake.
"Genesis of Womanhood" by Lisa Shaw at Good Enough for Jazz:
Sex was everywhere in the Fall of ’83—scratched in wide capital letters on the bathroom stall between the toilet paper and the overflowing box of used tampons, scrawled in black Sharpie on the seat of the school bus like a one-word to do list, even carved into the corner of the Sunday School table until some deacon added a few more letters to spell Essex, thinking he was clever.
"Depression Is a Loaded Gun" by Derek Powazek at Derek Powazek:
I’ve had depression so long, I don’t know what parts of my personality are it and what parts are me. When I was a teenager, I adopted it as part of my identity. I let it define me. I was just a dark, broody kid. But eventually I realized that was a lie. That was putting me in the back seat of my own car and I hate being a passenger.
"What Buddy The Elf Taught Me About Disability" by Karin Hitselberger at Claiming Crip:
I am Buddy the Elf! No really, I swear I am.
I know that sounds ridiculous, but hear me out on this one. Buddy’s experiences perfectly illustrate what it means to exist, grow, and live in a world that is just not set up for you.
"The Minimal" by Louise Bradford at Lou Bradford:
At my son’s carol service last night, a church priory packed full, we watched as three members of the chapel choir (the singing elite) were assisted off to be sick. Pale, peaky and eventually led home in an embarrassed hush. At no point were proceedings stopped, we all just carried on singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ and pretended that we weren’t observing the spread of end-of-term norovirus happen before our eyes.
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