Author, Vermonter, Amateur Human
Up til now, I’ve been relating stories about when I was a young girl. Not a kid anymore, but not a teenager yet, either. I guess the Lauren I’ve been writing about would be considered a tween today. At any rate, as I’ve spent time writing about my younger days, my head’s gotten all caught …
Tuesday, Dec. 2, 1986“Afternoon, Lauren!” Walden Brosseau was wrestling with a long strand of shiny, blue garland on the porch of Comfort Rock General Store. The fuzzy pompom on his yellow, red, and orange Ski-Doo toque bobbed back and forth as he untangled himself enough to wave at me as I jogged down from the …
Tuesday, Dec. 2, 1986I motioned wildly to Dave and Kim Stanley with both hands while kicking the chair in front of me to get Heather Nash’s attention. Heather and I weren’t great pals or anything, but I needed her for the plan I was putting together. Besides, she’d skipped sixth grade and was still out …
Tuesday, Dec. 2, 1986“Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen!” Ms. Van Fleet provided her standard five-second pause before issuing her third and final demand for silence. In turn, my class offered its usual act of obligatory defiance, ignoring the music teacher’s request. She was a creature of routine, and we knew it. When you have …
Last weekend my family went into downtown St. Albans, VT, to support Small Business Saturday. We couldn’t care less about the madness of Black Friday, and we’ll take pretty much any excuse to support local businesses. In addition to shopping at great places like The Eloquent Page, As the Crow Flies, and Moonshadows, we discovered …
I work full time as a behavior interventionist, so I’m around kids of all ages at least 40 hours a week. More than that if you count my own brood. One of the great things about my work is that I’m exposed to books that might otherwise have gone unnoticed or ignored. One of those …
Saturday, Oct. 25, 1986 “Oh my god! You’re not actually wearing that thing inside are you?” The tail lights of Mom and Dad’s car were barely out of sight, and it was already happening. I didn’t need to look to see who owned the shrill voice, but I did anyway. Half-blind from the eye holes …
