composting the details

While avoiding writing today, I found a book on my shelf from the eighties called "Writing Down the Bones." My copy is yellowed and studded with bookmarks–receipts, clothing tags, and the business card of a Californian sculptor. It's not really my copy, but my grandma's, and the book's history only adds to its mystique. Hundreds …

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no place(s) like home

Here's something about living abroad: it offers the gift of perspective. You start to see most things not as the default way, but as one option among many. Time away creates room for inspection, the chance to hold each culture up to the light. For a few years I had one foot in France and …

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balcony, equality, fraternity

In France, we've been observing le confinement for over five weeks. The first few days felt pre-apocalyptic in their uncertainty, with raided stores and raging rumors. We added a few bags of potatoes and the ubiquitous dried beans to our already well-stocked pantry. Uneasy, we wondered if we needed more–crates of bottled water, a tank full …

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