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Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Ears
Choose
Woman
Making
Sometimes
Love
Think
Thinking
Corn

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Do you have any idea how much an elephant drinks?
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Although, pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing.
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I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
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...if you expect people to try to do things your way, you're going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.
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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.
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Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.
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Life is the most spectacular show on earth.
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I'm truly grateful for my microwave, which allows me to easily clarify butter, steam vegetables, and - when I am really lazy - feed my three kids in less than five minutes.
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But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.
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I roll onto my side and stare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace. The sky, the sky--same as it always was.
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I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.
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Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.
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When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate.
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Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it.
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Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.
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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes I can't find myself any more. When did I stop being me?
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Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.
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Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that.
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He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. He's ill, Jacob. I say nothing. He's a paragon schnitzophonic. He's what?! Paragon schnitzophonic, repeats Uncle Al. You mean paranoid schizophrenic? Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.
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