One of Us
What happens when a country girl who’s lived and worked for years in the city returns to the country? Recently just such a girl (really she’s a woman) gave a report: “‘You’re one of us, you’re family,’ my uncle and … Continued
Cursing in Italian
Nerves and blood vessels closer to the skin–that’s how I see Italians, compared to the WASPS who surrounded me in Charleston, South Carolina when I was a girl. (There were African-Americans, of course, but I did not go to school … Continued
A Nest of Russian Dolls
When I took apart my nest of Russian dolls, painted red and white with touches of pink for the lips and green for leaves on their cloaks, I wanted each face to be different. But each doll, which held the … Continued
The Third Eye
By third grade I couldn’t see the chalkboard. My mother took my sister and me on the Charleston city bus from The Old Citadel to the oculist’s office on Rutledge Avenue. Eyesight, insight, hindsight: almost always my preferred sense. As … Continued
Piano Keys
Before I could type, I learned the piano keyboard. It was Charleston, South Carolina, and the white keys were almost always a little sticky with humidity. A red John Schirmer book, “Little Fingers That Play,” opened on the music rack … Continued
Museum of Memories
George Segal created a room (displayed in the Weisman Art Museum, University of Minnesota) honoring his parents: floor-length living room lamp, overstuffed chair and sofa, cathedral radio, and life-size statues of his parents. In my museum of memories stands a … Continued
Lavender’s Blue, Dilly, Dilly
For someone born nostalgic, language almost immediately acquired tactile, scenic compatriots. I’m sitting under my mother’s ironing board, listening to her sing to the slap-hiss of the iron above my head: “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s green.” I’m probably two … Continued
Rats, Lice, and History
Growing up in The Old Citadel, during the 1950s, we could very well have been inhabiting a medieval fortress, with its foot-thick walls, sixteen-foot ceilings, deep window wells, tall windows, and dark cavernous halls. My friend from across the courtyard … Continued
Racism on the Train
Growing up as an outsider in Charleston, South Carolina, cut two ways: into myself when I recognized how divergent I was, how odd, how embarrassing, how ultimately unrecognizable. But also outward, toward the movers and shakers, toward the society that … Continued