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Author: Karen Gillespie

Weddings As a Second Language

Asiago pinwheels or pesto ricotta tarts? Burnt lilies or mini gerberas? Invitations with or without vellum overlay? I’m not talking gibberish. I’m talking “weddings,” which have a separate language all their own. My anniversary was last month and weddings are on my mind. When I was younger I dreamed of ice sculptures, double-digit bridesmaids and a dove release that would rival a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. But 10 years ago, when I married my now husband David, I decided I wanted a simple wedding. Unfortunately there’s no such thing. Planning a wedding of any size is...

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Getting Into the Swim of Summer

You begin to hear the distant drumbeats in March, but by May the message is louder than a leaf blower on a Sunday morning. Put down the pecan pie, back away from the banana pudding. It’s swimsuit season! Yes ladies, once again it’s time to adorn your pale, beached-whale body with tiny pieces of brightly-colored Lycra. Swimsuit season is a yearly obsession. Women’s magazines and morning shows give it so much coverage you’d think the United States was a small tropical island populated by surfers and beach-volleyball enthusiasts. And the advice is endless. Are you an eggplant? Wear a...

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They Like Me, They Like Me Not

I REMEMBER WHEN FACEBOOK FIRST CAME OUT. Back in the day it was mostly a young person’s pursuit like twerking or pouring vodka into your eyeball. (And yes, vodka eyeballing is really a thing and, no, I haven’t tried it, but I’m tempted.) Eventually Facebook became so popular that everyone joined, even the nursing home set. (Speaking of which, Great Aunt Beulah, would you please stop posting pictures of your bunions?) At first Facebooking seemed like harmless fun. I was poking people, posting cute cat pictures and harvesting bumper crops of zucchini in Farmville. Sometimes I’d reconnect with old boyfriends,...

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Shot by Cupid’s Arrow

There’s a Facebook meme going around that asks you to check the applicable box: single, in a relationship, married, engaged or hoping for an act of God. A little over a decade ago I would have checked the last one.  Why? I was in my early 40s and still single, i.e., on a bullet train to a lifetime of sensible lace-up shoes, chin hair and soup for one. During my early 30s, everyone said, “Don’t worry. You’ll find someone. That lake is packed with trout.” When I reached my mid-30s they said, “You’re so picky! Are front teeth really...

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Do or Diet

I miss my youthful metabolism. I remember those heady days when I could burn up a fun-size Snickers bar just by blinking. Now it takes at least 10 hours of cross-country skiing. (Only five hours if I’m being chased by a polar bear.) I especially miss my once-high metabolism in January when it’s time to burn off the debauchery of the holiday season. Last year both my husband and I made New Year’s resolutions to lose weight. He gave up double-stuffed Oreos and lard, and, for his fitness plan, he began to manually change the TV channels instead of...

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