When I arrived in September, Tim was sleeping on a mattress on the floor, was using a cardboard box as a night stand, and had three whole pieces of furniture in the apartment. One of those was a lovely bed he acquired for Sophia (better than the one he was using, God love him), but... Continue Reading →
I was raised in an idyllic bubble. I grew up in a wealthy, white suburb of Chicago. We weren't wealthy, but my parents managed to send all five of us kids to Catholic school. I thought everyone in my town was white, Irish and Catholic. I didn't realize how small my bubble was until I went... Continue Reading →
Every day since I moved here, I have had reason to say "I love this place." The phrase is usually accompanied by a stunned shake of the head, or preceded by a gasp of joy, or, most often, murmured while I'm taking a picture of yet another gorgeous blossom that happens to be growing on... Continue Reading →
My son and daughter are first-generation Asian American. Their father, my ex-husband, was a Fulbright scholar from the Philippines. My son inherited from his father his dark eyes, darker-hued skin, and the broad Pinoy nose. My daughter got her father's eyes, the shape of the face, and the same kind of nose. ... Continue Reading →
She answered the door with a skeptical look, shushing the dog. I was sure I'd annoyed her, sure I'd picked the wrong day to approach a reclusive stranger. When I told her her farm's website had indicated that Fridays were the best days to drop by, she dropped her guard a little. I said I'd... Continue Reading →
Meg Currell 