I asked our students to engage in some self-reflection this week: think about yourself last August, when school started, and think about yourself today. How have you grown? What’s different?
Continue reading “525,600 minutes etc., etc.”
What started as a simple* project to preserve memories for my cousin, and to keep my work, has turned into so many questions, and a few regrets.
The book I chose to begin working from and transcribing at first looked like a messy compilation of jottings and scribbles and recipes my great grandma collected from friends and acquaintances. As I thumb through it, it looks more like a mother-daughter collaboration between her and my grandma. Grams has imposed some organizational structure on it — her lines are sharp and crisp and clear, written in her elegant, sloping script –multiple cookie recipes per page, and more cookies on the facing page, and more cookies after that. Great grandma fills in the gaps with stroganoffs and dumplings and shortcakes.
I doubt they would’ve undertaken it, but for a fleeting moment I thought maybe they toyed with the idea of putting together their own cookbook. Maybe they shared and swapped the book over the course of years.
Why wouldn’t she have ever told me about it? Shown it to me? Talked about it?
Maybe it was a vestige of a life she left far, far behind. One it was too much to go back to.
I have so many questions.
I have this friend. You might know her, actually.
My friend, she writes beautifully and precisely about horrible things. She curates words with a clarity of mind that leaves you with no mistake as to what happened, who is to blame, and what was at stake. I envy her this.
All I can seem to do is ramble on. Write 9,000 words about things I’ve been parsing since I was 15, each year adding and compounding to the total. If our savings accounts accrued interest the way our bodies do harassment, we could make up the wage gap, and then some. We could pay for our birth control, our preventive visits, our maternity care.
Continue reading “This week, last week, always”
I walked into a pub in Gettysburg famished and cold, hoping they had French onion soup on the menu. The Black & Gray had been recommended to me by the hotel receptionist (“They have all these burgers on the menu named after Confederate generals and depending on which one you order, it’ll come with a Confederate or U.S. flag!”). Continue reading “Gifts from the Debs”
It’s Black History Month! And Trump’s a racist!
I spend too much time on Twitter and this morning ran across the transcript of Trump’s Black History Month remarks. He referred to the breakfast as “our little breakfast, our little get-together,” first of all.
Continue reading “Lift Ev’ry Voice, and then some”
When my best friend in high school was deciding whether she’d leave California and go East for college, her mother walked into her room one night and, apropos of nothing asked, “pero ¿quién alimentará tú?” Continue reading ““Did you eat, yet?””
I think when the women in this NYT article lament about not feeling welcome, they’re saying they won’t feel celebrated. The world isn’t about only us, fellow white women. Continue reading “Dear White Women”