28

The beating heart and layers of history: Why I love my dining table

Our dining room table is a beast of a thing. Seven feet by five. Six sturdy planks of unidentified tropical hardwood, some of which are starting to separate so far that I can fit a whole hand down the resulting gap. The top is covered in scars, scrapes and gashes — each one a story. It holds secrets, this table — layers and layers of history.

48

The late night noms: how popcorn changed my life

My late night snacks always leaned towards the darkest sides of stoner food: quesadillas, cracker dipped in cream cheese, during more desperate moments, cheese melted on a plate scraped off with my own fingernails. On a whim last winter, I bought my husband a gift: a Whirlypop, which is a stovetop popcorn popper.

41

Why I fucking love my Caboodle from 1988

A couple years ago, my father gave me a trunk that had been gathering dust in his storage shed.

"I think this is yours," he said. I wasn't sure, but I took it because I'm a pack rat and even if it wasn't mine, doubtless there was something interesting inside.

And there was! Under my entire childhood collection of ElfQuest comics (!!!), I found a relic of my high school theater days — a vintage CABOODLES makeup case. It still had two yellow post-its taped onto the top that said "ARIEL'S MAKE-UP" and "RUM-TUM-TUGGER IN CATS," relics from the last high school play I was in.