I was so distracted that I crashed my cart smack into a slow-moving car in the parking lot. She looked drained and pinched, and after a moment, she pointed to her gas gauge. I've never asked for help from a friend since I got sober, but I'm asking you to help me." "I've got money," I said. "I've never asked someone for a handout." "It's not a handout," I told her. When you look later, there are already flogs in the water, and brine shrimp reproducing, like commas doing the macarena; and it seems, but only seems, that you went from parched to overflow in the blink of an eye. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.I started to apologize, when I noticed that the car was a rusty wreck, and that an old friend was at the wheel. "It's my birthday present." I thrust a bunch of money into her hand, everything I had. (Continues...) Excerpted from Plan B by anne lamott Copyright © 2005 by Anne Lamott. To read Lamott is like finding a friend you can talk to about anything.My pastor, Veronica, says that peace is joy at rest, and joy is peace on its feet, and I felt both that weekend. You go out during the early morning, and in the cool of the evening. It looked like a win for the Romans." "How do we help? " "You take care of the suffering." "I can't get to Iraq." "There are folks who are miserable here." After we got off the phone, I ate a few birthday chocolates. It was the first time that day that I felt my prayers were sent, and then received-like e-mail.
It took decades for Bush to destroy, the Iraqi army in three weeks. And then I drove to the market in silence, to buy my birthday dinner. What on earth was I going to do with ten pounds of salty pink eraser? Maybe it was the ham of God, who takes away the sins of the world.
I flirted with everyone in the store, especially the old people, and I lightened up. I waited ten minutes for what I began to think of as "that fucking ham." Finally the bag boy handed me a parcel the size of a cat.
However, after a second cup of coffee, I realized that I couldn't kill myself that morning-not because it was my birthday but because I'd promised to get arrested the next day. I can usually manage a crabby hope that there is meaning in mess and pain, that more will be revealed, and that truth and beauty will somehow win out in the end. So much had been stolen from us by Bush, from the very beginning of his reign, and especially since he went to war in Iraq.
I had been arrested three weeks earlier with an ecumenical bunch of religious peaceniks, people who still believe in Dr. I wake up some mornings pinned to the bed by centrifugal sadness and frustration.
A past recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship and an inductee to the California Hall of Fame, she lives in Northern California. So I took a long, hot shower instead and began another day of being gloated to death.
On my forty-ninth birthday, I decided that all of life was hopeless, and I would eat myself to death. Better to go out by our own hands than to endure slow death by scolding at the hands of the Bush administration. Everyone I know has been devastated by Bush's presidency and, in particular, our country's heroic military activities overseas.
In fact, she wrote an entire book about the act of writing.
She is, in the age of Trump, a voice in the resistance. And rather than quoting her observations and witticisms here, I encourage you to read as many as you can from this link.
Chou En-lai, when asked, "What do you think of the French Revolution? The checker was so excited about giving it to me that I pretended I was, too. A bagger was dispatched to the back of the store to fetch my ham. I wanted to go home, so I could start caring for suffering people, or turn on CNN.