OK, here we go!
I’ve been thinking all day about what my slice should be today. I knew I wouldn’t be able to write until later tonight, but several times during day I had the itch to quickly write down something. That’s a bit hard to do when you are snowed in with a two-year-old.
When I wasn’t playing with Play-Doh, or painting, or pretending to be driving a firetruck, I kept thinking about the term “slice of life.” A “slice” seems so… final. Like it’s been cut from the rest of your life, and here it is. It’s clean, surgical, well-defined. It’s ready to be breaded, fried, and eaten. But life is hardly like that. It’s not so easy to select a “slice” of it, disconnected from everything else, a unit on its own.
So I think I am going to think of these pieces more like chunks of life. Big, messy, ill-defined, sloppy pieces, with some crumbs falling off here and there. Your hands will get sticky as you eat them, but the at the end, the satisfaction will be worth it.