In Musing
Carole’s award-winning column, IN MUSING, employs her her quirky sense of humor and penchant for introspection to explore the many facets of being human, from the ridiculous to the sublime. In addition, many of her columns address social justice issues with a knack for keeping it personal and relevant. IN MUSING has been reviewed as “a fresh, funny conversation” and “amusingly selfaware and self-deprecating, Carole is especially adept at bringing pieces back around to a universal truth.” Carole’s column has won numerous awards over the years from the Vermont Press Association, the New England Newspaper & Press Association and the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.
The sand in my hourglass is a granule away from Alarm-ageddon!
That’s right. The entire company promotes a “skinny” physical aesthetic.
I’m not against DIY betterment. Believe me, I’m a self-help worrier - I mean warrior.
Okay, life, I see you - all provoking and anxious-making. This mightily ups the ante for my 19 day endeavor.
I have a strained relationship with vacuums. And it sucks. Even so, with every new one, I’m hopeful.
It seems once I’ve fully absorbed summer is indeed over, it’s October. Oh no, did I miss September too?
“There is no shame in pressing undo.” My finger froze mid-air, unable to tap “new deal,” as I wondered when did my mobile game turn into Yoda?
Lately, I’ve been thinking about women politicians and how they’re often called by their first names.
Maybe that is the magic of women’s dressing rooms. They enable us to be seen when sometimes we can’t see ourselves.
I go red in embarrassment as I imagine the possibility of the show filming both of us crying while one pushes the other down the world’s longest waterslide in Dubai.
It appears I’m finally old enough to know that beta blockers aren’t board games.
There isn’t a part of me that wasn’t profoundly changed by the experience and the women who made it happen.
If you’re caught being the old maid, you lose. Not just in cards, but in the game of life.
Valentine’s Day is the perfect time to acknowledge your partner’s ridiculousness and how empty your life would be without it.
Who waxes poetic about a bathroom?
I am filled with such melancholy this Christmas season, and I know a tree will be just the remedy.
I have a long hapless history with turkeys. I've dated quite a few.
In the waiting room, I sit amongst women. Beautiful women. Old and young, all clothed in blue.
And it’s awkward. Oh, so awkward when people act like death is over.
To anyone who continues to use any excuse, I’m left with only one question. What would love do?
As much as I love my friends, on National Best Friend Day I probably won’t buy them a card that reads, “I’m glad our friendship is tighter than our jeans.”
I am a human being conditioned to want extra. I’m hooked on it. I mean, extra must be better than no extra, right?
Once you notice it, it’s obvious the different messages we’re being sold - if you’re a boy, get out there and make things happen and if you’re a girl, smile and be happy. Oh yeah, and don’t forget to be kind.
I blame the freezer. It’s provoked cold shoulders, frosty conversations, and icy stares. It’s a cold war, baby.
We humans can’t help but judge. It’s as if our eyes themselves have opinions.
I still carry around a rock of hurt. Don’t bother telling me to put it down. It’s superglued to my back.
It’s December folks. The season of buying crap no one wants.
Every year November begins with a bang. A one-two punch of vexation to announce its arrival like some harbinger of gloom wearing a waterproof fleece-lined puffer jacket from L.L. Bean.
I had to get over my despair at my zodiac sign.
Whoever said what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger hasn’t taken my mother-in-law to Verizon.