I write stuff down. writer • humorist • activist
I don’t blame POTUS Trump for his shenanigans (or crimes and misdemeanors, assaults, tax evasion – tomatoes, to-MAH-tos). Just like I don’t blame Jerry Sandusky for kidnapping and sexually assaulting scores of young men. Or the priests who abused boys for decades. Or Scout leaders. Or teachers. Or cops who shoot (brown people) first and ask questions later. Even though. I don’t blame them – entirely. Sure, they’re complete scum,
Time for your yearly. Election day is fast approaching, and you may not like it, but it’s time to go to the polls for the health of your vagina. I mean, your community. If your town is running smoothly, you’re barely aware of the politics that make it so: the councils, commissions, and boards who keep the town going, bills paid, grievances heard, solutions provided. These public servants are your
At a writing workshop once, the teacher – who I thought knew and liked me – singled me and said, after I read my contribution aloud: “I don’t know what that is. On the page you’ve got nothing, but maybe if you read it out loud, or whatever it is you do, it’ll be something.” Why thanks. People who read me say I have a distinctive voice, and the best
What a summer. To be completely honest, the entire year has been a bit of a shit show: when a dead dog and dead aunt are the absolute highlights – and they were, make no mistake about it, both revealing the most beautiful and wondrous things about us humans just when we need it so – it’s not a bad idea to look forward to a change of seasons. Last
1-2-3: There was a gal … maybe you know her. About this tall? Cute, blonde hair, blue eyes – trim, very trim – you know who I’m talking about? From Pawling. Come on, her mother — a member of Quaker Hill Country Club, could do a split. I know you know her. Ate like a rabbit –sugar, no fat, no butter. Not ever. She always asked ridiculous, redundant questions –
Apparently I can’t keep them alive, but I can help them die, with dignity and humor and grace and privacy — or at least try. After helping my Aunt maneuver the ass-suck which is pancreatic cancer, we ended up in the same place as her brother, my dad. What a genetic shitshow. And with the news of the most recent shootings* (as of this writing, Dayton & El Paso, subject
Every once in a while Facebook serves up a writing opportunity too good to pass up. I’m not talking about the teeth-whitening strips or cool-sculpting or the never-ending bra inventory promising to uplift more than my sagging spirits. Actually, I am talking about just that, because an assignment for an essay on why people shouldn’t tell women of a certain age what they can and cannot wear – landed in
I’ve spent the month bedside with my dying aunt because nothing says summer vacation like fighting hospital staff for more meds while your incredible shrinking aunt disappears into bed sheets writhing in pain. There’s gotta be a better way. When alone in the room, my aunt tells me how she wants me to kill her if I can’t get her more meds; use a pillow, whatever I can think of
An irreverent storyteller with a foul mouth and big heart, Kathryn Mayer (also known by Kathy and Kate), is a writer, humorist, and activist writing out loud with humor and grace about the little moments of life with big ripples, including parenting, social issues, midlife, and, sigh, gun violence prevention. Sometimes a big deal, sometimes notMayer is national award-winning columnist, according to the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, and her essays have been recognized as Voice of the Year from SheKnows/BlogHer, named Best … Read More Here...
kate[at]kathrynmayer[dot]com
xo Kate