Sarah Spykman hates robocalls and loves the Internet. All of it. (Okay: not the horse porn. But most of the rest of it.)
“Our family has managed to whittle Christmassing down to a week or so of mild hubbub. It’s not fraught-free, but we keep trying, every year, to let Christmas know that we’re in charge, dammit.” Sarah Spykman asserts her hegemony over Christmas.
“’Where you from—Jupiter?’ has remained one of the best theological questions I’ve ever heard. Thirty years later it’s still stuck in my head, like some kind of universal measure in my light-years journey away from the ginormous gas planet of Jesus-speak.”
“I turn. A sallow blonde with sallow skin, in her fifties or sixties and wearing an oversized beige parka, smiles at me. Smoker, I think.” Sarah Spykman finds common ground.