All posts filed under: Erin Rose

Book Club: Tiny Beautiful Things, advice on love and life from Dear Sugar

by Erin Rose Let me start by saying this book is actually called, Tiny Beautiful Things, advice on love and life from Dear Sugar. But I didn’t even realize it until I went to write this, because I have always simply called it Dear Sugar, and I am going to continue to do exactly that here. So, I found Dear Sugar, or I suppose it’s more apt to say Dear Sugar found me, last spring in a bookstore in the small town I live in right now. A friend who, knowing I love Cheryl Strayed, thrust it upon me and insisted that it would truly be one of the best reads of my life. She and her mother had read it, both carrying it around with them in their purses for weeks. She said it was the kind of book you’ll be pulling out to loan to people or rereading yourself in the years to come. I love anyone who is passionate about reading, and I could tell she meant every word. Have I mentioned yet …

Book Club: Brain on Fire, Susannah Cahalan

by Erin Rose When I first laid eyes on Brain on Fire I was wandering around an airport, I cannot recall which one now, as it seems the last year of my life has been nothing but in and out of airports. Anyway, I was perusing the bookstore, as I always do, and fantasizing about two things: 1. Seeing my own book on the shelf one day and 2. Having enough time in my life to read all the books that I wanted to. Then I saw Brain on Fire and my own self-indulgent daydream came to a ferocious stop. I have to admit that as a product of my generation I am insanely biased by good marketing and packaging. This book stood out because of its colouring, half black- grey and half yellow and its fresh typeface. But most of all I was taken by the woman on the cover staring back at me with somewhat vacant yet frenzied eyes. I knew without opening a page that I had to find out what was happening beyond …

All I want for Christmas is you. 

Erin Rose Christmas is a loaded holiday. Some of our earliest memories and home movies are of Christmas morning, sleepy eyed, and pajama clad stumbling down the hallway. Our parents sipped coffee, and sat back as some make believe man took all the credit for what they had done, what they had saved all year for. This season is filled with equal parts joy and anxiety– the hustle, the travels, the money, and the family time. But how do we sift through it? How can we distill the true essence of this season? I recently watched How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and I realised that as per usual, Mr. Dr. Seuss had the message perfectly wrapped up inside of those rhymes. The only reason the Grinch is such an asshole is because thinks Christmas is nothing more than consumerism, gaiety disguised in gluttony. He tries to destroy Christmas by stealing presents because he doesn’t believe it could go on existing without them. But to his astonishment, they sing their songs anyway! And he realizes, “It came …

Book Club: The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion

by Erin Rose Joan Didion is a master of words. Her work, her career, her ease with language is something that both inspires and frightens me. She has written in nearly every genre under the sun but I am particularly in love with her nonfiction work. I devoured the essay collection, Slouching Toward Bethlehem, and then began reading nearly everything she’d ever crafted. During this past summer I encountered a particular amount of loss. My mother says people always die in threes. It’s the laws of the universe. I found myself without the proper language to discuss the grief. I am hardly ever without the proper language for anything. It is the one way I know I can communicate with the world and myself. My words are my life. One afternoon I found on the bookshelf in my sisters’ home a copy of, The Year of Magical Thinking. It was as if someone had planted it there for me. I found what I didn’t even know I was looking for.

The definition of Life

by Erin Rose I recently spoke to a friend who was having what I consider to be close to a melt down, over one of the most commonly asked questions for twenty-somethings in my generation: what the fuck am I going to do with my life? I for one was crippled by this questions some years ago, before I found music, before I found a lot of things.

We Gather

by Erin Rose I leave tomorrow morning for Minneapolis. This one wasn’t planned. They never are. Why does it feel we are always gathering together for funerals? I request someone get married or birth a child, give us a different reason to gather. But, nevertheless, we gather. All the women will wear scarfs and pearls because we will hear Joanne whisper in our ears while we dress. I suspect we will hear her until we join her. I doubt I will ever meet another woman with as much class and elegance as my grandmother had. She set the bar high, very high, in my life; in regards of what it meant to be a lady, what it meant to be a woman, what it meant to be a person. She was tough as steel, sharp as a blade, kind as a child, smart as a scholar, and more stylish than I could ever properly appreciate. We gather because she was our leader, under her wing we were created, a legion of Mahoney’s.

For Alex

By Erin Rose I think for some people there isn’t a whole lot to say when someone dies. For me it’s the opposite, it’s everything. It’s everything I ever said and everything I didn’t say. It’s canyons and oceans of time that passed between us. You for me, felt like so very long ago while you were alive, but in death feel immediate, dredging my memories to build new land on which I will lay you to rest. You, Alex, you were my golden boy. I worshipped you in a way one can only do at sixteen. I gravitated around you. Those blue eyes, that blonde hair, that laugh. You were the coolest person I had ever seen, a stone fox. But it wasn’t only me. You seemed to always have a pull like this. Everyone wanted to be near you, be friends with you, be in love with you. I infamously and debatably lost my virginity to you on the leather couch in John Lopez’s basement.