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The Golf Course, the Polis, and September 11
The things you do for your children. Or rather, the things you unwittingly do for yourself. It was an early autumn Thursday afternoon, four days after the ten-year anniversary of September 11, 4:25 p.m. If we didn’t leave the house right then, we were never going to get to my seven-year-old son’s inaugural golf lesson at the East Potomac Park course, where a Washington, DC-wide “golf and leadership skills” enrichment program was set to take place in thirty-five minutes. It wasn’t going to be....
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Something’s Not Working
The old red brick convent rises two big ghost-floors above the larger, L-shaped main level. It is not a romantic building in the classic, sprawling sense of what the word “convent” might connote, like the Sisters of St. Joseph’s giant Mt. Saint Mary Convent in Wichita, or the Poor Clares’ walled and flamboyant nineteenth-century complex on Henry Clay Avenue in New Orleans....
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The Help-less
The movie The Help has been out almost a month by now, but the surrounding hubbub seems in no way to be subsiding. Heated discussions about the film and its portrayal of the early civil rights era have raged across the internet, the style sections of the newspaper, and public radio call-in programs. Based on the wildly successful bestseller by Jackson, Mississippi-born writer Kathryn Stockett....
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Re-imagining My Mother
It’s been more than six weeks since my mother died, and the heavy cream-colored note cards are still sitting, reproachfully, in their pink box. The list of flower bouquets, delivered meals, and donations to my son’s Montessori school in my mother’s name—numbered 1-35 (and that’s just my portion: there are five other siblings), is scrawled on a back page in a composition book. Oh, I’ve written some here and there, written out ....
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Wearing Black
First, perhaps most prominently, there was the dress I wore to my mother’s funeral: a cotton broadcloth shift dress, princess-seamed and with box pleats around the knee-length hem, that had been a hand-me-over from my sister-in-law. The dress was sleeveless, but I did wear high-heeled shoes, a black spandex slip, and stockings. It was around 101 degrees outside. It seemed a fitting tribute for a woman who....
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Current Issue
Issue 72
Memoir by Lauren Winner, Poetry by James Harpur, Art by Guy Chase and Adrian Wiszniewski
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