by: Carisa Peterson My mother made all of my clothes while I was growing up. But it didn’t embarrass me in the way that some homemade clothes are known to turn out. That is, badly enough that they make the kid wearing the clothes want to look down and dig their toes in the dirt once someone notices a lopsided cut, or one sleeve longer than the other and asks them if someone made whatever it is. She easily could…
by: Ashleigh Papp I can’t recall the first time I had bubbly water — neither of my parents drank it, and as kids we were limited to water, milk and Kool Aid year-round. So I’ll never forget the first time I visited Europe in my early teens and was asked, “Sparkling or still?” I didn’t have the gusto to try something so new all those years ago, and stuck with what I knew — “Still please.” It took me many…
by: Molly Magid “Six slick slim sycamore saplings and five thrifty, fun, fifty-somethings. . .” I chant along with the rest of the group as I try to slow my breathing. We finish our warm-ups and line up behind the door. Somehow, I end up at the front of the line, place my shaky palm on the door knob, and prepare myself to open it and walk on stage. Three years ago, I found myself re-enacting that scene over and…