I write stuff down. writer • humorist • activist
The sky is brighter – clearer, softer, fresher – but you wouldn’t know that if you never went anywhere else. You have to leave, to appreciate the brightness of the night sky, or how the sun sits so low in the sky in the winter, like a stone being skipped across the horizon of a gray lake before sinking underneath. Whenever I wanted to beat my kids, which was a
Long time no write. Where’d everybody go? Didja miss me? I’m still here, well not here-here, but around, well not around-around, but holed up in my house, trying to make sense of a brave new world. Just like you. Maybe not just like you, but kinda sorta. I’m hitting the keyboard again, and if there’s anybody out there, drop a comment and let me know I’m not screaming into an
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
An irreverent storyteller with a foul mouth and big heart, Kathryn Mayer (aka Kathy and/or Kate) is a writer, humorist, and (former) activist writing out loud with humor and grace about little life moments with big ripples, including the space between parenting and aging parents, social issues, angsty reflections of midlife, and, sigh, gun humpers. Still. Sometimes a big deal, sometimes not Mayer is a national award-winning columnist, according to the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, and her essays have been recognized as Voice of … Read More Here...
kate[at]kathrynmayer[dot]com
xo Kate