Blog
The Silver Horse
| September 26, 2022 I found a silver coin in my mother's fancy things drawer when I was six: a large coin, inscribed with inscrutable writing, nestled among thigh-high nylons and diaphanous shortie nighties. On one side was the harp of royal Ireland; on the other, a horse.
Still Life
| September 19, 2022 “Isn’t this magnificent?” my mother says, sweeping her arm across the sky’s reflection in a pond of water lilies in Giverny. To think, we were in the very garden that Monet had painted.
Magnolia
| September 12, 2022 On the day we move to Mount Airy, we stand in the front lawn of our new home next to a large magnolia tree in full bloom. Already, we are less than three years away from my father’s stroke, just feet from where he will fall.
A Strangely Beautiful Remembrance
| September 11, 2022 "I can't remember how old I was the first time I saw my father cook," writes Tomás Q. MorĂn in his gripping memoir about growing up in a small town in South Texas. In another family's story we might find the father manning the grill at a barbecue. But in this case, the elder MorĂn is huddled in the passenger seat of the family car
Keywords: book review
Patches
| September 5, 2022 In April of 1979, my mother, father, and I lounge on a jon boat on Lake Keowee in South Carolina. In the stern, my dad props his fishing rod against the motor handle, then pulls off his hat, wipes sweat from his bare head. In the bow, my mother guards the cooler.
