Last week I had the honor of attending a UCONN Human Rights Institute conference in memory of my father. Here is what I had to say.
One of the ways I remember my father is through poems he loved and ones I wish we could have read together. Here is a handful.
A revisit can deepen one’s regard for a place and still let down expectations of better weather. The same can be said for photos.
Photos of boys of a certain age enjoying their winter break. Also, a glimpse into the origin of the phrase in the title.
A handful of photos documenting December wonders plus a brief confession about my experience of this year’s holiday season.
Photos and thoughts summing up my impression of Portugal: a place less “southern” than expected and bracingly unostentatious.
Longer than anything I’ve written since college, this essay is about a summer cabin and a daughter’s memories of her father.
Reflections on my father’s funeral and one remarkable photo taken 11 years, 11 months, and 11 days before the day he would die.
It turns out that having lice is not as bad as it seems—and reminiscing about the experience can be downright wonderful.
It’s unclear who had the bigger job this time around: the one forced to do the writing or the one forced to do the forcing.
Reflections on a tradition we adopted in 2015, which lights up the dark winter mornings with a steady uptake of jolly cheer.
My son, Anker, caught at the perfect juncture between playing in the sand and having decidedly outgrown the sandbox.
A moonshot of an observation inspired by a shot of the moon captured on the evening of my son Anker’s sixth birthday.
This dispatch is from our temporary quarters just two floors down from the construction site that will re-emerge as our home.
A city rooftop scene on a rainy day has inspired the first real professional collaboration between mother and son.
This year, my birthday gift for dad is a dedicated translation of the lyric Urania by Polish poet Jarosław Iwaszkiewicz.
Dinnertime scenes from a family inclined to make sushi at home, even if it means eating an hour or two later than expected.
It was a year of change for both mother and son, as well as for making new connections and reading books by Jonathan Franzen.
I seem to be on a mission to prove that a healthful, inexpensive, and delicious homemade meal can also be easy to make.
Capturing helicopters as they’re flying by is the newest activity to unite this duo of mother and three-year-old son.
Being in charge of a child’s culinary education ranks among my favorite responsibilities. Here is what I’ve learned so far.
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