Blogs I Read When I Should Be Living

“I have an announcement: I’m pregnant! I’m working hard at my home stationery/baking/wedding photography/interior design business before the baby comes.”

“I’m pregnant! During my pregnancy this blog will feature posts about pregnancy by all the pregnant women in the world.”

“I love my career so much! This is the first in a series of posts about how to be happy at work by making changes that don’t apply to you because you work for a church.”

“I’m planning my wedding and yours is over.”

“Here are some sneak peeks at my wedding which was featured in Martha Stewart! I got so much joy and satisfaction out of making EVERY SINGLE TEENSY DETAIL MYSELF.”

“Today I’ll show you how to make this beautiful card with expensive tools you’ve never heard of. Good luck with your crappy card club that you started in imitation of me.”

“I’m going to blog about my shopping hiatus AND THEN post pictures of unforgettably stunning $300 boots that you can never afford.”

“I don’t blog about the blog reading hiatus you pretty much need to take right now.”

“I don’t blog about the actual act of writing.”

“I don’t blog about patience.”

“On my blog you won’t find any help for you to stop hoping you’ll accidentally get pregnant.”

The Administrative Element of Communion

Since I started working for a mobile church,

I keep a spare box of Body of Christ in my car

in case we run low on Sunday morning.

Once I bought whole wheat matzoh because the store was out of regular.

The pastor choked when he was trying to administer the elements.

When the associate pastor requested salted matzoh,

the pastor choked again.

“Christ has died [cough cough]. Christ has risen [cough].”

One Sunday, I spotted a little girl in a stroller

drinking out of a white grape juice box from Whole Foods

(we serve grape juice for health and conscience reasons)

and I was outraged that her parents (the scheduled communion prep volunteers)

had taken the blood of Christ, the cup of the new covenant,

which I am responsible for restocking!

Then I remembered He was all about “suffer the little children

to come unto ME.”

2109

—“Everyone must write a poem entitled ‘2109’ for next week’s class.”

“Pi-ow”
I pretend to shoot myself in the head.
“Write it about our children’s children,” my fiance suggests,
and let me tell you, he does not normally say cheesy-sweet things like that.

But I don’t want to write about someone else’s life.
For the first time in my life, I want to live my life.
For once, I don’t want to be dead.

All my concerns are so 2009.

In 2109, my wedding registry
at Macy’s, Target, and REI and Crate and Barrel (if I get my way)
will be nothing.

In 2109, my honeymoon will have been over for a long time.

In 2109, the one person I long for will be departed from that precious, decayed body.

In 2109, even my future children
Constance Hartzler Wenger
Otto J. Wenger
and Yolande “Yoli” Kay Wenger
will be dead!
The babies I haven’t even conceived yet! Dead!

What is to desire about that?

“These and all else were to me the same as they are to you”
is small comfort when my pleasures are so petty.
I have become so small, Walt Whitman.

In 2109, the cheap double-sided tape I use to bond paper to other paper
and call it stationery
will be brown and have no sticking power.

Bible Commentary Mania

In a manic down-sizing frenzy,
my Mom moved into an apartment
and accidentally put her Bible in storage.

The first calm morning on the balcony,
open on her lap, a Bible commentary.
The thing was hefty.

She read aloud,
“‘Psalm 118.

David.
His men.
Adoration.
Lamenting the king.

Surrounding foes,
sufficient name,
strong right hand.

The stone,
the day
and the Coming One.’

This isn’t working,” she laughs.

But I’m not feeling up to complete sentences,
so I’m grateful for these poprocks of sense,
these firecracker signifiers.