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By Wendy Pierman Mitzel My scrambled eggs smell like wet dog. This is my morning observation for the second day of the year 2020. This is the year, we all say, things will become clear with 2020 vision. But really, how is anything different than two days ago, when the calendar read 2019? Hindsight is not always 2020, by the way. More often than not, it is no easier to discern the why or how of anything with ten years distance than it is in the moment. But what is possible, I think as I get older, is the ability to honor intuition. Looking back, the gut feeling has been the right call a lot of the time. Even when I fought it. Tried to reason with it. I don't always trust it. And even when I do, I don't know exactly how to act upon it and often don't. But when I have, it has given me no good reason to doubt it. A few years ago, I became convinced I had a tumor in my abdomen. I jokingly told my doctor, who dismissed it as I had no real symptoms. I was ready to let it go, but my inner voice spoke louder. I firmly asked for an ultrasound and we discovered a giant ovarian cyst, ready to burst. Still, it's not just about the physical. It's about seeing that person Read more...

There was nothing like a trip to Vermont with the gals. Led by the ever-encouraging Carol Booth, we couldn't say no to the Wine Fest and Soup Stroll. Each year was the same, laughter, nuttiness, chiding each other for our quirks (but with the love of old friends behind every tease). It can't be the same anymore. And that just plain sucks. Carol fought a very intense fight with Leukemia and we lost her last week. I can only hope we continue to head north, squish into the giant Adirondack chair and toast our fearless (truly she was) leader. We hope you all have a friend and tradition like her. ~ Wendy Pierman Mitzel   By Cami Beiter - October 14, 2016--- When we were young rambunctious teenage girls, sleepovers consisted of staying up past the new episode of Fantasy Island. We slumbered in sleeping bags bought from the Sears catalog that and waited weeks for. We gossiped about idiot boys, slutty girls, evil parents. We snuck a few shots of Jack Daniels from behind the bar and, even though it burned and tasted disgusting, you lied to show off your bad ass self. Cigarettes were stolen from mom’s purses and collected like playing cards, only to be handed out after Mr. Roarke Read more...

By Wendy Pierman Mitzel (4/3/17)~~~

Celeste is one of my favs. I met her at grad school in Cambridge and was immediately taken with her for so many reasons, one of which is her fabulous  accent from “the islands.” But seriously she has a heart of gold, keeps me inspired and has the ability to tell a story like no one else.

Through her fiction writing, I came to know the places she calls home: Trinidad. From her non-fiction essays I find myself questioning how I see the world.

I mean, look at that woman and tell me you’re not going to click on the link to read her words…. I dare you.

Click now… on the picture… or right here ……    Badman don’t…

By Wendy Pierman Mitzel - In tribute to a high school friend who recently performed a similar feat of goofiness, I present you with an oldie-but-goodie from June 2008. OMG! is that really 8 years ago! Times have changed, kids have grown, but I'm pretty sure I'm still a tad whacky! Here you go: Those of you with kids will understand when I say the end of the school year has me running around like a dog chasing its tail. All the end of the year parties are approaching, sports are frenetically wrapping up and I spend more time shuttling kids to and fro many appointments. But I guess I didn't realize how discombobulated I'd become until one night, last week I took the dogs medicine. Yes, you heard right. Took it. Took it out of the bottle, got distracted on my way to shove it into her mouth and do that stroke the neck until it goes down thing. Took and got myself a glass of water, popped it in my mouth and swallowed. At which point, my eyes must have bugged out of my head in surprise, like those cartoon people. "Omigod," I said to The Man who is sitting at the computer working. "I just swallowed the dog's medicine." He turned around in resignation of my stupidity. "I have Read more...

Here's a new feature, Re-Run Monday. Lots of our old stuff didn't make it over to the new site last year, so we're uploading some of them here on Re-Run Mondays. Some of you might remember them, some of you might be new enough, this will be just like the first time around. Thanks for sticking with us! Wendy Pierman Mitzel From : 3/6/2013 I used to squeak. From kindergarten through high school I put on my trademark white cleats and hit the “pitch” as those Brit friends of mine call it. And for the first few years I squeaked each time the black and white sphere came my direction and required me to engage in battle. It was a weird habit that my gawky, bespecticled-self developed. It took years to break once I realized I was too old for it to be cute and instead it had turned just plain weird.  I wasn’t a great soccer player at first, but as time went on I gained confidence and skill and control over my long, skinny arms and legs. Just as a foal takes time to become a mare, I needed a few years to GROW into myself. Eventually, I earned a varsity spot and a few conference awards for my kick-ass defensive moves and rockin’ white cleats. What’s disheartening to me, Read more...

  By Wendy Pierman Mitzel What is the protocol for alerting a fellow human to a hair in their honker? You know what I’m talking about, the hairs, like spider legs that creep out from within the nostril. Usually sported by older men, these hairy horrors are hard to miss. Or are they? Because apparently, they become invisible when seen in the mirror. How is this getting by the morning routine? Let’s see: brush teeth, wash face, shave, big hairy proboscis, brush hair, aftershave. Now, I’ve seen those on the drug store shelves the torture devices that probe and spin like a weed wacker up the schnoz and I imagine it’s not a soothing massage for the muzzle. But still, let’s get it over with and give it a trim already. Moving on... Let us not forget for the ear hair. Another grand joke played on those getting older. How do you bring that up in conversation? Start with a compliment? “Hi, wow, your nose hair is so nice and tidy but could I just point out that the hair in your ears is beginning to look like a homegrown set of ear muffs?” I believe the schnoz wacker is multi-functional and can be used gently and cautiously although Men’s Fitness suggests plucking - Read more...

There’s nothing better than a Feel Good Underdog/Good vs. Evil story this Labor Day holiday to put faith (and appreciation) back into the workplace. Since when does a high power CEO really care for the people responsible for the foundation of their pyramid? An individual who looks at its employees as people and not as unnamed, replaceable objects? Because of Market Basket’s CEO Artie T. Demoulas’s compassion for others, history was made. Arthur (Artie T.) T. Demoulas is the CEO of the family owned/operated New England based, Market Basket grocery store chain. According to the LA Times: “Artie T was fired in June by his cousin, Arthur S. Demoulas after he gained control of the board. Members of the board had accused Artie T. of ignoring them; he said they were greedy and wanted a big share of profits he said should go to employees. The two sides of the family have warred for years in and out of court; at one point there was even a fist fight between cousins.” Artie T. is the type of corporate leader who spends much of his time dealing with the day to day operations. He can be seen behind the counters, in the deli, in the warehouse. He knows many of his employees names, Read more...