Stella's spicy secrets

 My youngest sister, Halle, is the queen of, what my family calls “glomming” In fact, so much so that we call her Glommy more often than Halle. The dining room table at my house is somewhat like a picnic table, as it has two long benches on each side; whoever sits on the side that Halle is (never me by the way, and for good reason) always has to put up with her “glomming” What this means is: by the end of the dinner, you will notice Halle’s plate has magically moved from 3 feet away to 3 inches away from you. Your elbows are glued to your sides like the classic military push-ups you have to do in 6th grade PE because she simply gives you no room. Halle doesn’t understand the concept of personal space when it comes to us, her family members (or maybe she does, she just doesn’t care to support the foolish “space-bubble-belief”). “I just love you guys so so much” she claims whenever her grimy little paws reach to hold your hand while you are trying to eat with a fork. Another one of h...

  Most families with young children have certain four-letter words they aren’t allowed to use, for some it’s poop, for others, it’s fart, but for me, it was best. My mom always told me I wasn’t allowed to have best friends because ranking and labeling people isn’t healthy. Words like “best” enable this paradox of good and bad or right and wrong. But what makes something good or bad anyway? Everyone always says a “good” person does the “right” thing even when it’s hard. But who is to say what the “right” thing even is? Who decided they were the moral authority on “rightness”? Personally, while categorizing things is in our human nature, I prefer to radically accept what is, rather than judge and label things. Things will ebb and flow, change may be “good” or it may be “bad” but most often, it just simply is. With that, I cannot tell you what my “best” quality is; all I can say are the things I know about myself. For example, I play the harp. When I tell people this, I often get as...