Columns
In Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds, I Find the Women of My Family
For many people, they smell White Diamonds and, instantly, they melt. They remember their mother’s indulgent laugh; the arms that held them.
Why Do We Read Plague Stories?
They suggest that we can get through adversity, that things could always be worse. And sometimes, the best of these stories are genuinely full of love.
How the Literature of Empire Shaped My View of the Natural World
It took me years before I realized that I’d built my notions of beauty from the stories of a distant land.
Sheltering in Place in My Backyard Garden
This period of social isolation is, I’ve told my child, an act of love for others. We are, whether we want to admit it or not, part of a herd.
Autocorrect Is Not Your Mother
Though tech assists so much of our daily communication, it’s not omniscient. Nor is it any kind of authority in our lives.
Searching for Family History in My Grandmother’s Embroidery
Together, the photograph and the needlework clearly told a story, one beyond any we knew.
The Hands That Haunt Us: When Did Disability Become Consent?
You will remember, in fact, the first doctor who does ask, who says ‘is it okay if I put my hands here,’ gesturing, waiting for you to say ‘yes.’
It’s a Boy! Whatever That Means
On bad advice books and gender nonsense.
The Curious Language of Grief
I don’t think I cried over his death for a long time. I wondered if something was wrong with me. I hadn’t realized that we have to learn how to cry.
How Meditation Helped Me Feel More Comfortable in My Body
How sad that I couldn’t regard myself with more kindness before, but how necessary it felt now that I was in constant pain.
