“And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not as long as there are plums to eat and somebody--anybody--who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That's how you acquire the resolution for survival that the upcoming years are about to demand. You don't give it. You earn it.”
― Mary Karr, The Liars' Club
I finally picked up Mary Karr's The Liar's Club. It's been years since I inhaled her third searing memoir, Lit. Revisiting her compelling, soul-bearing prose feels a lot like spending time with an old friend. Only she's smarter and funnier (at least on the page) than anyone I know. Oh, and she had a relationship with David Foster Wallace. So there's that.
I'm allowing myself a medicinal dose of Karr and the Sam Cooke station on Pandora as brief antidote to more pressing Monday matters, including but not limited to: research regarding the tax implications of non-prorata distributions of trust assets, deposition preparation in a forged deed case, tennis camp drop-off of a reluctant, royally pissed 14-year-old participant (she'll thank me when she's 28), and basketball camp pick-up of sure-to-be hangry (hungry+angry), royally pissed 12-year-old-participant (ditto).
It's a thankless job on some days, the FIRST day of new camps in particular ... the children, like the rest of us, will get used to trying new things. And likewise grow accustomed to, in Karr's words, "earning survival."
For love in all forms begets love, as she reminds us. Which is easier to remember on Day TWO of camp.
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