All Purls. No Swine.
It happened to me last week during a conversation with my darling Auntie Pat. (Ninety-nine next month; may she live forever.) I’d phoned her up, and after a false start in which she may have been holding the phone upside down and speaking into the earpiece (shades of my dad in the months before he died;… Continue reading That Moment When You Realize You’re Old
One of the touchstones of my life has always been the story of how my dad met the Pope, in Rome, on June 5, 1944. Truth be told, my mother always pooh-poohed the whole thing a bit (not unusual for Mum to do something like that, especially for an event in which she wasn’t the main… Continue reading “His Holiness Will Receive You in a Few Moments. I could Have Dropped Dead!”
The costume of women should be suited to her wants and necessities. It should conduce at once to her health, comfort, and usefulness; and, while it should not fail also to conduce to her personal adornment, it should make that end of secondary importance. The author of these words was born Amelia Jenks, on May… Continue reading On Late Bloomers
Full disclosure: I'm 67 years old. This upcoming September (2022), I'll be 68. No point pretending otherwise. No point writing posts either celebrating--or bemoaning--my "hotness" in a previous life about half-a-century ago (so I'll spare you the bikini-beach-babe pic, unless you're really determined to view it, in which case knock yourself out). Things are what… Continue reading Semper Fi! My Marine Corps Tulips. And Some Other Stuff As Well.
On this April 16, 2022, a day that would have been my grandmother Molly's 124th birthday, I bring back a post originally published five years ago today, on Ricochet. Nothing's changed. My grandmother Molly could be a rather stern old lady. She was born when Queen Victoria was still on the throne, on April 16,… Continue reading On Granny. Oh, and On Chocolate, Too. And a Few Other Things As Well
March is a problematic month for me, being one of those two or three in the year in which anniversaries and memories--those both deleriously joyous and desperately sad--seem to congregate and coalesce in an inescapable, and sometimes overwhelming, swarm. My granddaughter's birthday. Our dinner of grace and the death of Mr. Right's first wife. "Fifteen… Continue reading Just a Daughter’s Memories: Nigeria 1959
During a British conference on comparative religions, experts from around the world were discussing whether any one belief was unique to the Christian faith. They began eliminating possibilities. Incarnation? Other religions had different versions of gods appearing in human form. Resurrection? Again, other religions had accounts of return from death. The debate went on for… Continue reading Amazing Grace–A Lenten Post
The year was 1956. I knew something was horribly wrong that night, when Ahmadu dropped the soup! Normally exquisitely self-possessed, immaculately groomed, and imperturbable, our man-servant and friend was disheveled, the color of cement, and shaking like a leaf with acute anxiety and palpable fear. Our little family—myself, Kay, and our imperious eighteen-month-old daughter, known… Continue reading Gagara Yasin
I am the grandmother of an eight-year-old girl. Technically, she is my step-granddaughter, though the distinction makes no difference, I assure you. Her mother is my stepdaughter and beloved friend. Her first few years have not been idyllic. And she’s had to learn to be a little tougher than I would like, a little earlier than I would… Continue reading My “Feminist” Fever Dream
Sundials. I have one. Carefully adjusted so that it tells the approximate time based on the position of the sun showing in the sky. (When there is sun showing in the sky.) It's kinda fun, because, simply by moving the dish, I can tell the time in any part of the world; anywhere that's important… Continue reading Counting Only the Sunny Hours–From Now On, Of Course