“July Morning, 2020”: An Interlude with Michelle Cacho-Negrete.
Sometimes it might seem we’ll be okay after all. “… some little part of me prays that we can hold on to the beauty and love in the world before it’s all vanished …” July Morning, 2020 The Scarborough Marsh at six o’clock this morning, our daily bike ride’s preferred time, is peace incarnate. Yesterday’s thunderstorms cleared the...
“Retail Therapy … Just Isn’t Anymore,” by Eleanor Herman.
Returning to the mall in the age of Covid-19. “I mean, even if nobody sees me, I do have certain standards.” Back to the Tysons mall after four months away! I’ve always loved to look at clothing, shoes, and purses. To try skincare and makeup. I used to slip out of my home office and...
“I don’t know what to do about it,” an essay by Laura Bernstein-Machlay.
On passing time in Detroit. “I’m so sorry, I whisper to the silence all around.” Monet, The artist’s garden at Giverny, 1900. This feature is available, in slightly different format, on Medium, here. Where I live, COVID-19 has landed like a tornado. It staggers and sways through Detroit and beyond, so everyone deemed nonessential stays under cover when...
“The Beach and the Bells,” an essay by Jenny Gillespie Mason.
Zoom healers, a beach trip, and a campanile with canned chimes. “I can’t help but feel I’ve done something wrong in bringing them, that I put my own sanity before others’ health.” I stayed up too late on Zoom for Wendy’s fiftieth birthday dance party. I don’t remember the last time I danced like this with other...
“Time Slowing Down,” an essay by Karen Sullivan.
“Civilized time has always felt bottled, and now it’s not.” Once, deep in an Alaskan winter in the abyss of a post-divorce-induced depression, I spent an entire Saturday sitting in the living room of my rented postwar cottage, rocking absentmindedly in a creaky chair, dog in my lap, staring through small frosted windowpanes at feathers of...
