Mary Beard. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, especially after finishing college. It’s funny how certain people seem to pop up at exactly the right (or wrong) moment in our lives. Maybe it’s because we’re all searching for…
I was making myself a cup of coffee when I noticed Pandora’s favorite mug sitting on the drying rack beside the sink. That wasn’t unusual by itself. She’d probably washed it before leaving for work. What caught my attention was…
Denis Johnson’s words have a way of getting stuck in my head, like a tune I can’t shake. It’s been years since I read “Jesus’ Son,” but the cadence of his prose still echoes through me. His writing is like…
I was sitting on the couch waiting for Pandora to come back from the kitchen when I noticed she’d left her phone on the coffee table. I hadn’t meant to look at it. In fact, I made a conscious effort…
As summer wears on, the cumulative effects of too much sun and too many products can leave skin looking and feeling damaged.
Vera Brittain’s letters have been haunting me for weeks now, like a quiet echo that refuses to fade away. I first stumbled upon her name while browsing through a used bookstore, and something about the title “Testament of Youth” resonated…
I was sitting on the couch trying to answer a message on my phone when Pandora started playing with Mr. Whiskers. She was making ridiculous faces, talking to him in that cheerful voice people instinctively reserve for cats, and Mr.…
I’ve always been fascinated by Geoffrey Chaucer, but not in a way that’s easy to explain. It’s like he’s hovering just out of reach, and I keep circling around him, trying to grasp what draws me in. As I reflect…
I was making breakfast when I noticed the coffee beans were almost gone. That immediately struck me as suspicious because I could have sworn we’d opened a brand-new bag yesterday. I picked up the container and gave it a hopeful…
Summer’s arrival brings with it a promise of warmth and vitality, but also an unsettling awareness of the impermanent nature of beauty. As we shed our our winter
Martha Graham’s name has been floating around my mind since I first started dancing. It was during a particularly grueling ballet class, and our teacher kept referencing her as the “mother of modern dance.” At the time, I found it…
I was making a cup of tea when I noticed Pandora’s favorite mug sitting in the dishwasher. Ordinarily, this would not qualify as an event. Mugs go into dishwashers. That is, as I understand it, one of the principal reasons…
I’ll be honest, Wilhelm Reich’s name has always left me a bit uneasy. I stumbled upon him while researching for a writing project – his life and work are like a whirlpool that draws you in, but makes you feel…
A woman stands in front of her bathroom mirror, surrounded by various makeup products, as she navigates the daily routine of getting ready. The array of cosmetics before her is a testament to the enduring notion that a polished look…
I was sitting on the couch watching Mr Whiskers groom one of his paws when I noticed Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans were still sitting at the curb. Pandora was in the kitchen making lunch, and somewhere down the hall I…
Wallace Stevens. I find myself coming back to his poetry again and again, like a puzzle that refuses to be fully solved. It’s as if each time I think I’ve grasped one of his poems, it slips through my fingers,…
Mr. Whiskers was sprawled across my lap when I noticed something that immediately bothered me. His fur looked… different. Not messy. Not dirty. Just unusually fluffy, as if every hair had been carefully arranged to achieve maximum puffiness. I ran…
I first stumbled upon Svetlana Alexievich’s work while browsing through a used bookstore during my junior year of college. I was immediately drawn to the cover of “Zinky Boys: Soviet Voices from the Afghanistan War,” her stark, black-and-white photograph of…
Pandora forgetting her phone is about as likely as Mr. Whiskers volunteering for a bath, which is why it immediately caught my attention. I was making breakfast while John Mercer wandered into the kitchen looking like he’d spent the night…
I’ve been reading Erich Auerbach’s work for a few weeks now, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around his ideas about literature and history. What keeps drawing me back is the way he talks about how texts can…
