‘Around the Bend’ … and into the sunset
Lately, I’ve been asking myself a question: When is it time for a small-town humor columnist to call it quits?
I’ve landed on the answer: It’s now.
I’ve been writing this column for 22 years, which is a long time (too long, some might say). In some ways, a lot has changed; in the beginning, for instance, I wrote about how fun air travel with a three-year-old was. Yesterday, that same child asked me a question about her 401(k).
“I am even more grateful to all the people who have read and (I hope) enjoyed the column over the years—whether because they found it truly funny or because they found it less stressful than the news.”
But most things have stayed about the same. One of my earliest pieces was about how Mark and I had bought a fixer-upper, but he was spending his weekends working on other people’s houses instead.
We own a different fixer upper now, but the rest is evergreen.
I’ve never had (or wanted) an exciting life, which is why I’m baffled that I am still allowed to write a column, and that people still read it. Editor John McCright often assures me that a “slice-of-life” column doesn’t have to be thrilling; it just has to be relatable.
Last year, I had a chicken that came in the house once a day to lay an egg under my desk. Is that relatable?
I can always default to self-deprecating humor or—even better—Mark-deprecating humor, but I’m finding it harder to come up with new topics. I’d like to think people turn to page 4A every other week happy to see my deceptively outdated photo smiling back at them. I don’t want them thinking, “Her again, already?” or “Jessie’s annoyed with the weather this week. Shocker.”
Most of all, I don’t want to write with the misguided confidence of one whose appeal has faded. Better that I step back now than wait for John to pull me aside and say, “We think it’s hysterical that you lose your phone a lot. But maybe you don’t need to write about it again so soon.”
On paper, I’m not too busy for the column. But somehow, despite only working part time, I’m busier than anyone I know; I have a lot of hobbies. And while those could be good fodder for the column, I wouldn’t call them all “relatable.”
For example, my latest passion is teaching myself data analysis so I can study changes in the household possessions of Vermonters from the late 1700s to the late 1800s.
It’s a bit niche.
Don’t worry; I’m not done writing. And I’m sure my byline will be popping up in the Addy Indy now and then. But for a while, at least, I’m eager to have more time for all those hobbies. I’ve already been having a blast poring over 19th-century probate inventories for hours, pausing only to enlighten Mark now and then.
Me: “Wow. In 1810, this person’s spinning wheel was only worth a dollar, but they had a clock that was worth $20. That’s almost as much as their cow cost!”
Mark, in awe: “Um … OK.”
While I am looking forward to escaping the biweekly pressure of writing the column, I’ll miss the deadline; I’ve used it to get out of obligations for decades. And as a procrastination tool? The house is never cleaner than in the 12 hours before the column is due.
My biggest fear is for Mark and me. What will happen to our marriage when I can no longer publicly make fun of him? It’s so satisfying when he can’t defend himself.
Maybe someone more interesting will step up to fill these column inches, and Addy Indy readers will discover that humor columns don’t have to revolve around aging or social awkwardness. Or maybe I will conclude that Addison County hasn’t, in fact, heard enough about how I struggle to operate paper towel dispensers in public restrooms.
For now, I want to say that I am deeply grateful to the Independent for giving me this space for so long. I am even more grateful to all the people who have read and (I hope) enjoyed the column over the years—whether because they found it truly funny or because they found it less stressful than the news.
Just be warned that without this outlet, I may soon be bursting with a backlog of unsolicited thoughts. So if I see you in public and start prattling on about the terrible weather and my failing memory and 19th-century wills, please don’t look at me in confusion and say, “Um … OK.”
I get enough of that at home.
✦ ✦ ✦
(Originally published in the Addison Independent April 2025)
