The Brood: On Careers, Currency, and Catholic Guilt

In terms of career goals, in the words of Lloyd Dobler (imaginary boyfriend of all sensitive children born between 1976 and 1984), “I don’t want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career.  I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed.  You know, as a career, I don’t want to do that.”

The Brood: Ramona, Forever

“With red eyes, a swollen face, and a streaming nose, Ramona sat up and glared at her mother. “Love me!” Her voice was fierce with hurt. Shocked at her own words, she buried her face in the pillow. She had no tears left.”

I loved Ramona, but I lacked her courage. To be undone, but to still have the strength to demand love? Couldn’t be me.

The Brood: On Self-Help, Dreams, and Crying at the Gynocologist

I crush my latte cup in one hand. This is stupid. I don’t know what my dreams are. How does a person know what their dreams are after forty? Is having dreams even appropriate once you start using night cream and getting yearly mammograms?

The Brood: The Seen, the Unseen, and the Flutters in Between

It is, dare I say, a perfect autumnal read, as it is warm-hearted but rife with melancholy. It pairs brilliantly with cookies a cup of tea or mulled wine. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll figure out what we mean by “Catholic Spiritual Autobiography.”

The Brood: Summertime, and the Living is…Something

I move languidly from chore to chore, wiping peanut butter off of surfaces, running back and forth to the store for the items that disappear faster when everyone is home, losing track of hours and days and weeks. Routines govern my life, and in the transition from spring to summer, all routines are upended.