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Articles by Julie S. Paschold
A Dead Washer….And Burning the Past
Member-only story Two Poems About Being Ready for the Future Julie S. Paschold · Follow 3 min read · -- This week, a repairman came to fix you because you made noises of a rocket ship every time you spun, because you gave me codes of an uneven load no matter what was within your bin to wash. This week, the man that came to repair you said there was no repairing you, it was time for something new.
Beans
Member-only story A musical poem for Valentine’s Day Julie S.
Falling to Pieces
Two poems about change Julie S. Paschold · Follow 3 min read · -- The old couch that used to belong to the loveseat that said goodbye…. This began with me needing to consolidate two rooms into one: an office that was becoming a bedroom, so needed to be brought into my living room. What to get rid of? How about that old love seat that had already fallen apart, that I hated, that we had to cover up with a bedspread because it was so ugly, whose couch had already been lifted away.
God's Grasshoppers
It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to dwell in; who brings princes to nought, and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing. - Isaiah 40: 22-23 I am a grasshopper. I am a squishy soft hard-headed one of many. I am a tiny creature in a swarm eating the green of the earth. I consume.
Like Minds
A Poem: to my son Like Minds -to my son- (1) In a horror movie we are watching where an exorcism removes the voice of a demon from a woman’s mind I say aren’t you glad we don’t have someone telling us what to do in our heads? to which you reply you mean you don’t?
My Heart is Beef Jerky
Do you ever meet someone too nice? So soft of voice, sweet in perpetual offers to help, rounded, no edges, no corners, skin and hair fair as the beige of every office wall; poems written about them have no crackle or cracks or darkness at all. I take my pocket knife, try to carve out my hard edges and whittle a smile where the resting bitch face lies, to no avail. I remain cracked and irregular, edged with pained experiences.
Beautiful Because of Our Scars
I was on a road trip with my AA sponsor and we were telling each other the stories of our history. Our discussion led to the question: if you could go back in time and change the past, change your mistakes, would you? My response? I wouldn't know where to start, when to stop, and how that would change who I am today. Later, I was talking to a friend about body image. Growing up, I was taught to strive for perfection, and being the overachiever that I am, I took that way too far.
Redneck Advice
Redneck Advice I'm fifty and about the only skill I've acquired is the ability to light a cigarette while walking or driving a car. I've been smoking for 25 years; didn't start until I met your dad. Or more like when I met his roommate Dave. People say he is dumber than a box of rocks. He's the type that still drives down the middle of the county blacktop, even though they've painted it now with those yellow lines.
Just Don't Eat The Bugs
It is Thursday, May 25 and the thermometer exclaims a delicious 82 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Last year on your birthday, your son reminded you that your age was closer to half a century than a mere four decades, and it is almost your birthday again. Your daughter already has her feet dug into the job she found after earning her college degree. You do not feel young anymore.
Catch Up: a poem
A compulsive public attraction towards complication and the utilization of obscure words and phrases in development of modern prose and poetry in order to emulate the classic poets of old, their forms oozing rhyme and meter, structure and sing-song meting out the stars in raptured eyes has me scrambling along the precipice of my simple mind counting on numbed non-nimble fingers the chances lost to expand the reach of my horizons, my own words lost to obscurity due to their blunt plain...
Sex Rooms, Trauma, and Synesthesia
Let’s talk about sex, baby This is the kind of relationship I have with my daughter: when pondering what show to watch next on Netflix, she recommended I try How To Build A Sex Room. As I began watching the show, it became clear to me just how vanilla my sex life has been, and what big of a rock I have been living under. I was born in 1976 and may have grown up in the 1980s and early 90s, but my household was very strict and so heavily Christian, it might as well have been the 1950s.
Sex Rooms, Trauma, and Synesthesia
This is the kind of relationship I have with my daughter: when pondering what show to watch next on Netflix, she recommended I try How To Build A Sex Room. As I began watching the show, it became clear to me just how vanilla my sex life has been, and what big of a rock I have been living under. I was born in 1976 and may have grown up in the 1980s and early 90s, but my household was very strict and so heavily Christian, it might as well have been the 1950s.
Ten Years Later: Who Killed Amber Tuccaro?
Amber Tuccaro — Source: Northern Plains Freelancer I think we can all agree that video and audio recordings significantly increase the creepiness factor of a case. The disappearance of Canadian woman Amber Tuccaro is extremely disconcerting, thanks to a short snippet of audio in which Amber can be heard asking the man who was driving her where they were headed. Amber knew the man wasn’t taking her where she wanted to go. You could hear the desperation and growing fear in her voice.
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